Crossfire
by ElvenAngelMayCry
Summary: Ten years have passed since the events described in 'Frail Equilibrium' made a lasting impression on Dante's life. Now the past comes to pay him a visit. Yet what starts as a rescue attempt could be something very different...and all too familiar. OC
1. Preface & Prelude

**Preface**

When I began to write _Frail Equilibrium_, I wasn't expecting it would evolve into needing a sequel. But from the moment people started asking about one, I realized that a sequel story _was _in my head, but I got a little scared of being unable to deliver.

This is rather expected of me, the neurotic little perfectionist that I am. And when I did make up my mind, I kept having technical issues with my computer (including the entire first draft of this story getting corrupted and then vanishing completely) that didn't want to stop coming. The stress from the computer problems caused me to have a sort of mental block. Art block and writer block and—ah forget it, you don't wanna hear about this. The point is, it took nearly two years, but I did not abandon this. I've got a story to tell; the sequel you're currently about to read.

Before we move on, I'd like to say a little something. _Crossfire_ sees a little change in my method of writing and the departure of a friend from my editing/anti-procrastination team. This means that there will be some slight differences in aspects such as dialogue or battles. However, I am determined to keep the quality level as high as I can and try to exceed _Frail Equilibrium_'s. I'm not very sure how fast chapters will be put up this time, though. So be patient.

As before, I will kindly ask you to give me heads up about spelling mistakes or typos that I might have missed. One can never be too careful.

Concerning the story now, I've got a few things to say. For the ones reading my work for the first time, I advise you to go read or even just skim through the prequel, _Frail Equilibrium_, otherwise some aspects of _Crossfire_ may not make sense.

Actually, a lot of it might not make sense, so go look it up anyway. And don't forget to review!

For my returning readers now, I know you've got certain expectations of the story, but I'll ask you one thing: Do not make the mistake of having too high expectations, or you might get disappointed, and I will hate to do that to you. Yes, Dante is back, so is Tess and so is—well that's all I'm willing to give you. You'll have to read the story for the rest.

I want to thank all the people that stood by me while I was writing this. Like with _Frail Equilibrium_, these people reminded me to keep believing in my writing and to stop being so worried all the time. Therefore, I want to thank Hassan, Adam, Jason, Nukey and Brandon who had the patience to listen to my ramblings; you guys have no idea how much this meant to me. I'm really sorry if I got carried away a bit, babbling on, but I won't forget how much I appreciate it. Also, thanks to Alexx, who despite his faults provided me with many ideas and food for thought. I extend my thanks to LunaFarfalla, LuciferDragon and Dragon Mage for their beta-reading help.

Last but not least, _you_, the reader. Thank you for taking the time to read the story, and I sincerely hope you will enjoy it. Have fun.

**Important Author's Note****: **In the fanfic, you will often encounter the word _'wiccan'_ being used. The term is used to describe witches of both genders in the same sense that 'human' describes human beings. It is not related to the Wicca religion, though elements of it have been borrowed for the story, with the fullest respect to the Wicca religion.

**Devil May Cry  
Canto Azuro: Crossfire**

**Prelude**

The greasy cigar smoke rolled in the slight midday breeze as the bar door opened. The conversation dipped slightly as the man stepped inside while some of the older and more suspicious patrons craned their necks to study the newcomer with an Italian kind of suspiciousness. Smoke coiled toward the dim lights and drifted around flat beers and the calm and relaxed atmosphere of the bar.

The pleasant tunes of classic rock rolled out of the old-fashioned radio mounted on the wall behind the bar. The few clients and the barkeep were all equally relaxed in the early midday hours. One would think it would receive more clientele, since it was an old, well-known joint, situated right on one of the central streets of the provincial Italian town. Yet naturally, a low drinking bar like this was expected to attract more people at night than in the middle of the day. Many locals also found it too foreign for their tastes.

Run by an American, with most clients consisting of American or English immigrants, the drinking bar was not high on the preference of many Italians. Ranging from middle-aged to younger, the patrons, all males, were scattered either at the bar, chatting between them, or at two of the tables, with one company eagerly poring over a game of poker, jesting between them and taunting each other, while occasionally taking sips from their drinks.

Yet the man that stepped though the open door looked like anything but the usual type of customer or a newcomer away from his homeland. There was something quite unsettling about him, despite his calm demeanor. A small group of four, sitting at a table on the other side of the bar paid him little to no attention, except for the one person looking over at him from head to toe, then resuming conversation with his fellow drinking partners.

The man stepped right up to the bar and pulled himself onto one of the high stools lining the wooden counter, resting his elbows on the black marble surface.

"Jack Daniels, on the rocks," he said smoothly, as the barkeep turned to him after serving another young man on the other end of the counter.

The bartender, a short, stout, middle-aged American, faced the newcomer with a chuckle. "Well, I'll be damned. What's a Big Apple brother like you doing in this dusty little place of Italy?" he said, reaching for a glass and the bottle of malt.

The man just smiled. "Nice guess."

"Ah, the accent. No mistaking that New York accent!" the bartender replied, placing a glass right in front of the man. He paused as the man placed a photograph on the counter.

"This girl," the man said. "Looking for her. Heard she hangs around these parts."

The bartender was silent for a moment, as he looked at the picture, contemplating. "Huh, seen the face," he muttered and unceremoniously poured some whisky in a glass for himself.

"Don't really know the girl; once said her name was _Celia_, but that's all I really know _for sure_ 'bout her. I can tell ya this though, she's bad news," he chuckled, drinking from the glass. "Angel looks, empty pockets and empty hands. Nasty combo for the stuff she does."

"Yeah?" the other said with a cool interest, tapping his finger against his own glass, amused.

The bartender lit a cigarette and inhaled some smoke calmly. "Seen her couple of times. Gotta admit she got me out of one rather _tight _spot a while back; I've seen what she's 's a weird piece o' goods" he said, exhaling the smoke slowly. "Quiet, bit cold--_hell_, even shy. Sweet-talkin' thing when she wants to, never asks for trouble, but you'd hardly call her a lady, she's a nasty lil' bitch. I mean…as puny as she may seem to be--packs quite a punch," he snorted. "Just last week she broke a dude's arm and nose, right in here. Can't say the punk didn't deserve it, but it's scary the way she does things like that with a cool face while looking hot as hell at the same time. 'Course, that's just the 'lite' stuff she does."

The man on the other side of the bar smirked, bringing the glass to his lips. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The bartender took another draw of his cigarette. "I got a shrewd lil' idea that she's some kinda bounty hunter or _merc_. She's hard to come by. You'll never hear her comin'. She keeps nearly givin' me heart attacks every time she turns up, like a ghost; scares you shitless and leaves before you know it. Sometimes she comes 'ere to meet someone. They talk in this lil' room I got in the back. I got no idea what jobs she's takin' but from the looks of the customers she gets, seems like the weirdest yet. See here--" he said, leaning forward a little "there's some rumors flyin' around 'bout her."

"Rumors, eh?" the man countered, his smirk insisting.

He drank some whisky before answering. "This part of Italy and this city are messed up like that. Superstition, paganism and paranormal shit--you'll find it here. And you'll find all the _wackos_ that go with it. Some crackpots say there's _witch circles _and Satanist cults. This city's damn old, hard to find all its secrets. There sure _is_ somethin' odd about this city and this Celia girl…I hear a lotta tongues say she's a _witch_ in one of them circles," he said. "She sure as hell looks like one; nasty enough to boot. She pulls off some weird acts every now and then. Like I told you…_bad news kind'a girl_. She'd tempt a saint and toy with him. Send him to Heaven or Hell, if she had the mood," he ended, putting out his cigar carefully. "I don't know where she is, you might wanna try the gypsy quarter, couple of streets down. It's full of self-proclaimed witches and the lot; I hear she hangs out there. But you really wanna find that messed-up girl?"

The man just smiled and paid for his drink. "Yeah. I got some old scores to settle with her."

"What, you actually know her?" the bartender said, surprised.

The man has already heading for the door. He looked over his shoulder, gazing through curtains of white hair, an amused smirk tweaking his lips. "Kind of like an old acquaintance."

The bartender shook his head. "Still, that girl's bad news," he muttered.

The man chuckled and walked out of the pub. "She's always been."


	2. Chapter 1 Resurfacing

**Chapter I  
****Resurfacing**

It started on one of those cold November evenings, when the temperature dropped below zero and the lack of moisture made the wind bite like a razor breaking the skin. The murky sky and the depressing clouds over the city gave it a rather moody feel that seemed to be getting to some people, making them agitated and irritable. It certainly seemed to be attracting rogue demons into action more frequently.

Demons getting friskier and showing up more often was no curse in Dante's eyes. In fact, for him and Trish and even Lady, it only meant more business, more money…and more fun. There was even a point when he had enough money to do some much needed repairs to the building, like patch the damaged facade at last and prevent it from falling apart. He even replaced the broken neon-sign with a better quality one. But the interior of the office was virtually unchanged. The cheap lighting fixtures shed poor light in the late evening hours, with the dark having already crept into the sky.

His desk was in its usual state of havoc, littered with empty pizza cardboard boxes, beer bottles and a graveyard of paperwork he'd never pick up, stashed carelessly over it. Only his mother's picture seemed to be regularly taken care of; its lacquered wooden frame was like new; there wasn't a speck of dust on it. Several posters, mostly pin-up girls, in various conditions covered part of the walls. Overhead, a fan twirled slowly with a soft creaking sound, casting a soft shadow from the industrial lights that illuminated the place. A sound system, a drum set and a couple of guitars stood against one of the walls, nearby a jukebox, and across them on the other side of the large room, behind a sofa, stood a pool table with the cueballs scattered over it and a stick lying on its surface.

The walls were 'decorated' with various skulls of demons, held in place by swords, broken blades and spears protruding from them and even the top half of a halberd. He'd hung his coat on one of them.

Dante stood at the doorstep, tapping his boot-clad foot on the floor in a frustrated manner.

"What? Whaddaya mean 'can't do anything' about it?" Dante fired back at the delivery guy. "You just brought me a goddamn _pineapple_ pizza. I ordered—"

"Sorry man, that's the box they gave me, not responsible for what's in it," the delivery boy replied, shrugging. "'Sides, you owe the joint nearly a hundred bucks on tab. They're gonna start yanking it outta _my_ paycheck. So quit fussin' and pay up. Pizza'll be the same, pineapple or not," he added, putting out his hand in a demanding gesture.

He eyed up the other man, taking in Dante's tall frame, decked in dark brown pants, a little like cowboy slacks, with ornately decorated leather bottom ends in lighter brown. The pants the slacks covered were deep red. His shirt was a plain, black zip-up one. He had a very annoyed look on his angular face, with icy blue eyes, his head topped with a mop of white hair in a negligent style.

Dante threw his free arm up in a distained gesture from the doorstep, holding the pizza box idly in the other. "I already told them to put the damn thing on my tab, what's the problem with you people?! I said I'm gonna pay at the end of the month. But I ain't paying for a pizza I didn't order. It's your mess, so go back to your boss, tell him you messed up and get me my pizza!"

The delivery guy shook his head, his hands on his waist. "Look dude, I ain't got all day. You got a beef with the store, then call 'em up. I ain't leaving till you pay for that pizza, whether you ordered it or not. I'm not gonna have my paycheck cut down just because you don't want some fucking pineapple on it."

Dante briefly felt like punching the guy out or worse, but instead he shoved the box back into the guy's arms and stabbed his index finger into his chest, glaring at him. "Forget it. I am _not_ paying for this. And if you deliver the wrong pizza again, I'm having your head on my wall next!"

The delivery boy just returned the stare, taken aback. He nodded dully and back-stepped away from the threshold as Dante slammed the door shut.

"Frickin' nutcase," the delivery boy muttered, as he tossed the pizza into the catering box on the back of his bike and then sped off.

Walking back towards his desk with a small huff, Dante glanced up, taking notice of Trish coming downstairs from the upper floor. As always, that clinging black pair of pants suited her well, enhancing her tall frame and the bust only complimented her bosom. She smirked as she stepped down. "Another row with the pizza boy, I see. You're behind on your bills… _again_ ?" she chuckled.

Dante made a small face, leaning against the desk and folding his arms. "Hey, don't get me started on this whole business. They can't even get a single order right!"

Trish just shook her blonde head with a smirk and walked over towards the couch to pick up her leather jacket and her sunglasses from the coffee table. "Its kinda funny how there's plenty of business but little payment. Hope it won't last," she added putting on her shades and heading towards the door.

He just huffed, letting his head tilt back and he stared at the ceiling for a moment. "We'll be fine; where are you going, anyway?"

She gazed over at him with a displeased look. "You finished all the beer, drinking like a sponge. I'm gonna go restock, so don't drink through them all at once. Won't be long," she said, opening the door, ignoring his complaint about her accusation.

She stopped abruptly. "Oh, what's this?" she said, bending over and pulling a sand-colored envelope from under the door. It had been caught between the floorboards and the door panel, where someone had slipped it under. It was stuck near the hinges and thus had gone unnoticed.

"Hey, it's for you," she said, after glancing at one side of it, taking a step or so back and dropping it on the coffee table. "Be back in a while," she added, going out the door.

He raised an eyebrow, walked up to the table and picked up the envelope, staring at it. "Yeah, later," he said, idly waving his hand at Trish, while still staring at the envelope. He was mildly surprised. _"Now here's something new,"_ he thought absently, looking at both sides of the envelope and mused over it only for a few seconds. He noticed that there was nothing written on it except his name and there were no postal stamps either. It may as well have come out of nowhere. He flipped it over again to open it as he neared his desk. The black phone on the desk suddenly rang with a sharp sound, cracking the silence.

He raised his eyebrow again and took the envelope with him as he sat in the chair heavily, swinging his legs up on the desk, letting his heels thud on it heavily. The receiver bounced up and he caught it, bringing it to his ear. "Devil May Cry," he said, sounding a little bored.

A smooth, slightly deep, male voice with a faint foreign accent—perhaps Spanish or Portuguese—replied. "Good evening, Dante," it said. "The password is 'Albatross', if I am not deceived."

Dante tilted his head to the side, slightly. "Huh, yeah. Whatcha want?" he said, leaving the envelope on his desk to deal with the phone-call. He felt that whatever it was, it could wait over a phone-call with –for once—the password.

The voice on the other end of the line was calm. "I am in need of your assistance on a professional level. A person very important to me is in grave danger and I cannot save her."

Dante chuckled lightly. _"Another one of these. When are they gonna learn?"_

He let a small sigh. "Sorry pal, I don't do rescue jobs," he replied and began parting the receiver from his ear—

"You know her. A witch, called _Tess Templar_," the voice said calmly.

Even though the receiver was already halfway to the cradle, he didn't miss Tess' name being mentioned. His eyes widened a little and he felt compelled to put his legs down from the desk. The mention of that name suddenly dug up memories that he wasn't sure how he felt about. A name attached to a face that he hadn't seen in almost ten long years.

"_It's been…a decade already?"_ he thought, finding himself a little bit awed.

But he was much cooler in the head when he lifted the receiver back to his ear. "Someone I know, eh?" He hated being so wary, but he could still recall Tess' feelings about the coven she was forced to join; what she had clearly wanted him to remember about them was _not to trust any of them_.

"I'm glad I have your attention at last," the man on the other end of the line said, sounding relieved. "She is in great danger and it is beyond my power to help her now."

"Somehow that doesn't sound very convincing, pal!" he chuckled lightly. "Who are you?"

"My name is Ricardo De Castro. I am a wiccan, like Tess. If proof of my telling you the truth is what you need, open the envelope I sent you. Its contents should convince you of my honesty."

Dante eyed the envelope he had left on the table. He shrugged as he left the receiver on his shoulder and picked it up to open the envelope. "We'll see about that then--"

The envelope contained a total of three photos. They seemed to have been taken in a sequence. The first was a wide angle from the side of a congregation of people in what to him looked like an archaic conference room, with a large stone altar towards the back, ancient looking and decorated with carved relief of wiccan symbols that Dante didn't understand. Some of them did look familiar, from the few things he had picked up when he was living in the Templars' apartment building. In front of the altar stood a charming mid-aged woman with blonde hair in a humble bun on the back of her head, wearing equally simple but regal-looking dark clothes and a white, ceremonial cloak around her shoulders.

She was poised in a gesture of addressing the people in front of her. It looked like a grouping of various ages of both genders. Some rank distinction could be made, as the ones standing in the front were generally older than the rest and looked to be the most knowledgeable. The others were younger, standing behind the rest, mostly looking respectful towards the orator...except one.

Dante suddenly reached into one half-open drawer and rummaged around. Balled up pieces of paper, string, and a demonic charm or two spilled out as he searched for what the item he sought. At last, he pulled out a battered magnifying glass, absent of the handle it originally had.

A young woman stood out from the rest, with deep red hair, her pose just showing her face in three quarters. She didn't face the speaking woman, absently looking away towards the camera instead, but unaware of its presence there. Her eyes still stood out against the bland colors of the scene: they were green and sharp, with a look very familiar to Dante.

"_No way!"_ he thought.

Her entire posture showed she was displeased with what she heard, and barely held back from speaking against it. Her arms were folded on her chest and her weight shifted to one leg under a long dark skirt with a slit on the side. He shook his head a little; she had changed of course, but it had to be her.

The second photo showed some change in the congregation. The woman speaking had extended her arms to the crowd and was looking straight at the redhead woman. The young woman had turned her head, looking back at her, her arms pulling away from her chest and her posture showing surprise. The rest of the people were suddenly looking at the young woman; he could tell by their expressions there was a mix of feelings, ranging from surprise to anger.

The last photo was the most peculiar. It only showed the same redhead woman being escorted out through a large arched door, flanked on both sides by men in matching dark uniforms, while another woman followed. They all had their backs to the camera, but the redhead seemed to be resisting, though not violently; just half-turned, looking back and her mouth open as if she was shouting something. She seemed to be very angry, but also unable to do anything to help herself.

Dante felt a shiver down his spine as she took in her features from the close up. Albeit obviously different from age, it was definitely Tess. He simply couldn't mistake those eyes and that expression. He shuffled the pictures in silence, not really knowing what to say of them.

He put down the magnifying glass and took a better hold of the phone again. "Who did you say you were, again?"

"Someone who does not want to see her die. Call me Ricardo. Now do you understand, why I need your help?" he replied, having been patiently silent while Dante observed the pictures. "You can see for yourself that she is in a troublesome position."

"Alright, I'll bite. What happened to her?"

"As you might be aware, she is now part of an organized wiccan coven—has been for the past ten years," he said.

Dante dropped the pictures on the desk and stared into space idly, his hand tightening around the receiver without him realizing. Of course he remembered that. It was a quite painful memory, seeing her forced to leave against her wishes. He'd lost a dear friend that day and it still made him a little angry even though he had convinced himself he was over it.

"The _Rosengard_ coven has accused her of repeatedly breaching with the coven's creed in her behavior. She has doubted the High Priestess' decisions and actions for long. They suspect she has been in contact with demons," Ricardo explained coolly, but then his calmness seemed to crack. He sighed softly and his voice had an almost pleading tone. "Dante, they will _kill_ her if this keeps up. I suspect corruption in their midst, and I must remove her from their clutches but I am far too weak to battle them all. You must come to help me. Help _her_."

Despite himself, Dante bit his lip a little. By the sound of it, things had turned out really bad for her there, just like she had feared they would. "Where is this coven, then?" He leaned forward a little, resting the elbow of the arm holding the receiver on the table.

"This is not information to be shared via phone, they've got connections everywhere. I have enclosed details in the envelope. But be warned, these wiccans are not to be taken lightly. There is a rumor of a devil witch's presence in the city and it would only—"

The line was suddenly cut and a long beeping sound replaced the voice. The connection seemed to have been cut abruptly. Dante was listening carefully until that beeping noise was cued all of a sudden. _"That can't be good. Hope that dude didn't bite off more than he could chew with this,"_ he thought, staring at the receiver for a second. He put it down on the phone, scanning inside the envelope for the rest of its contents.

He recovered a brief note, typed, of the location of the coven, somewhere in Italy, where he could meet with Ricardo and ended with a repetition for caution toward the wiccans. He stared at the paper for several seconds, before dropping it on the table and smirking a little bit. "Well…things just got a lot more interesting."

A minute or so later, Trish returned, carrying a paper bag with some beer cans inside. She stepped inside and cast a glance at him while closing the door. She immediately knew something was up. He had a look on his face that she had seen only once before.

"What's going on? Something about the envelope?" she asked, putting the bag down on the sofa. "Is it a job?"

He scoffed. "Hardly; someone I know seems to have gotten into a load of trouble. Someone I haven't seen in a very long time. I don't like the sound of it."

Trish looked him up and down a little. Though his tone was easygoing, he couldn't exactly conceal that peculiar look in his eyes that she otherwise might have missed if she hadn't been looking for it. "Want to go look into it, then?"

He shrugged, throwing his hands up and shook his head as he picked up the paper again. "I dunno! A guy called me right as I opened this thing. There's directions and everything. If this is someone's idea of a joke, it's a damn good one."

"So we're going…Lovely," she said, taking the paper from his hands. Her eyebrows bowed up. "Italy, huh? Perfect, we'll do sightseeing on the side," she chuckled, joking.

He smirked. "Maybe we could go to the beach too!"

She walked past him, tossing the paper on the table. "I'll go pack my bathing suit then."

"Don't forget your tanning lotion," he said, chuckling. He let it die off as she went in the back, taking up a picture of Tess. He stared at it as his smirk faded away. He let it drop on the desk surface and opened another drawer of the desk, which he usually kept locked. He fished around in it for a moment, and pulled out a small, black piece of cloth folded around something.

He spread it, holding it in his palm and contemplated the object it held: A cross necklace, handmade, hanging from a piece of thick, black, woven string. The silver ornament glistened in the hard light, and the black stone embedded where its arms crossed seemed to be staring right back at him, patiently.

Ten years ago, when he was still a teenager, somehow he'd found himself living in a sort of boarding house run by a weird trio; an unbearable old lady, her retainer and her granddaughter. Eventually, it had turned out that the two women were witches and the retainer just their familiar. The old lady hated his guts, but the girl, Tess, had been more easy-going. She and him started out horribly bad, actually, but circumstances brought it around and they somehow ended up being very good friends.

Though it seemed that meeting them had caused him a heap of problems with demons, he always had the sense that he had caused equally a lot of trouble to them, particularly when it had been his fault –albeit unwillingly—that her grandmother was massacred by the demons infesting the city and intending to catch Tess. Tess had a very peculiar ability of clairvoyance or future sight; she never knew what it was exactly and refused to define it as either. Just by seeing his aura alone, she had understood he was a half-demon, she had predicted his near death by drowning -back when his powers hadn't developed as much- and figured out what had been going on.

And when it was all over, she had to flee. That coven, the very same one that Ricardo had now brought up, was looking for her. She said they wanted her to go to them so they could protect her from further demon attacks. But Tess herself had been so scared and disagreeable to that prospect that Dante had wanted to make her stay. She was so concerned about their true intentions that she made him swear he wasn't ever going to look for her and she never came in contact with him. He had not known if she was alive or dead all this time.

The saddest part was the fact that she was aware of the pain she was causing him and that he didn't quite believe her when she had promised to come find him. So to convince him, she had made him hold on to the necklace for her, making him understand it was quite precious to her.

Something she'd said ten years back nagged at his mind. 'I'll want it back' she had said. Though he never admitted it to himself, he somewhat hoped the circumstances under which he would return it would have been less dramatic.

He sighed. _"__Way to come back into my life, Twig. What've you gotten yourself into, now?"_


	3. Chapter 2 Dedication and Denial

**Chapter ii**

**Dedication and Denial**

She lit the candles before the small shrine, one by one with delicate motions of the hand. Though she could have easily breathed fiery life into the small wicks by use of witchcraft, she preferred the simple use of a long stick lit with flame. Such waste of powers was below her; they were too precious to be wasted on trivial things. She moved along the row of candles and her ceremonial robe let a soft sound as it shuffled. The silver thread reflected the soft light of the candles and made the heavy silver necklace on her neck glisten.

"Bless us, Goddess, as we venture through the world, balancing light and dark, following the ancient, well-worn ways. Keep us safe from the abyss," she muttered softly as she lit the last one, casting a glance to the simple statue of a woman in her prime dressed in a flowing dress, standing in a pious but forbidding pose. The statue's long hair trailed along her shoulders and a necklace identical to the one the woman wore hung on the statue's chest. Her expression was delicate, frozen in a humble, benevolent look, her lips barely smiling.

"Safeguard us from power's temptation, guide us prudently. Blessed you be," she muttered.

The High Priestess put out the small stick she had used to light the candles and crossed her arms over her lap as she gazed at the statue for a while, in contemplation. She wore a dark blue dress with long sleeves and a heavy silver belt around her thighs, its ornate buckle shaped like a pentacle within a circle and a necklace of sterling silver: A thin chain with a crescent worn pointing up, featuring a large, light-gray moonstone gleaming in the middle. A heavy, white cloak with silver and black trimmings and embroidered runes hung from her shoulders, the edges fastened with a large brass buckle just under her collarbone.

She then turned and left the small chapel, pacing through the semi-circular room and opening the double doors at the back. Another woman was waiting for her there.

"Grace with you, High Priestess," she said respectfully, tilting her head in a greeting.

She was younger than the High Priestess, wearing casual clothes, a knee-length brown skirt and a light-colored blouse that accentuated her chestnut hair.

"And with you, Vanessa," the High Priestess said kindly, closing the doors. "Thank you for waiting for me; now let us can go to the Great Hall and talk about what is troubling you."

The two women began walking down the short, stone corridor of the old manor and entered a larger room with a stone altar standing towards its back and a high, vaulted ceiling overhead. As the stepped inside, the High Priestess allowed her gaze to follow the walls, lined with tall, stained glass windows that allowed enough light into the chamber to deny it the need of artificial lighting. The floor they paced over was made of various colors of marble, creating the shape of a large wiccan circle. The pattern repeated itself on the vaulted ceiling over head, where three chandeliers hung, now unlit.

The building, a medieval manor that once housed lords of the city, belonged to an anonymous party, according to papers; in reality it was the sanctuary and gathering place of the Rosengard coven. Unlike the warm and stuffy air of the city, the atmosphere inside was crisp and had an ancient feel to it, even though the building itself had been restored in recent times and overall could not have been older than a few hundred years.

The two women were alone in the large room and the entire building felt empty and silent. They walked up to the back, where a stone bench was built along the wall, to accommodate a lot of people. The rest of the room was empty but for some additional benches built along the far back wall and a large marble altar in the very middle, although the room was obviously used often for congregations rather than some kind of worship. The altar was once the epicenter of an active pagan religion, but now functioned more as a dedication than fulfilling the true purpose of an altar.

"Vanessa, be a dear, give me a hand with this thing," the High Priestess said, her hands coming up to the buckle of her cloak to pry it loose. "And tell me, what developments have we?"

"Yes, your Grace." The brunette helped the older woman remove the ceremonial cloak and folded the large piece of clothing while the High Priestess was removing the heavy belt. "It's _him_. He's come to the city," she said calmly.

The older woman sighed. "Vanessa, you can call me Regina now, this is not a ceremony and the title makes me feel like an old wreck," she said, a bit impatiently as she removed the belt. "So he has come," she went on, sounding skeptical as the younger woman took the belt from her. "No doubt he'll come directly here."

"So you think he knows?"

"Oh, I'm sure he does," she said, taking her hands to her hair and smoothing out her bun absently. "But _she_ hasn't been honest to me and I am having trouble discerning the truth. I'm certain she has always been well acquainted with him, even though she has never allowed herself to admit it."

"She's protecting him!?" Vanessa gasped.

"Possibly, although I see no reason how a wiccan would be involved with the likes of demons or even _him_ in particular."

"But then, that means that she—she could be in contact with demons even now!"

Regina shook her head. "But she is still 'clean'. No, she has not betrayed the Right Hand Path…yet."

"Will it be trouble? Do you think he wishes to harm us?"

"That will depend on his motives. We are no Order of the Sword. If, by chance, he has been in contact with that alchemist--" she paused. "Yes, it could be troublesome for us all. And she suspects too much and may know more than I expect her to."

"How shall we deal with this, then? Do you have any orders?"

"Nothing at the moment. The sanctuary is well protected. Everyone knows their duty and she has been adequately kept in ignorance. I'd like to deal with the matter myself. Take the robes to my chamber, if you could, please."

"Of course, Regina," the other one said with a nod and carrying the ceremonial robe and belt, left through the door again, leaving the blonde woman alone.

High Priestess Regina let a small sigh and sat on one of the benches, her eyes fixed on the double doors on the other side of the hall. She was expecting him, having sensed his presence for a while in the building. And surely enough, soon she could hear unfamiliar yet confident footsteps down the hall, from the outside and then the double doors swinging open abruptly.

"Please, stop—no, you can't go in there!" sounded the protest of a middle-aged man hurrying after the intruder.

A man in a red coat strode inside, unashamed and nearly arrogant, his dark brown trousers brushing the marble floor gently as his boots tapped the floor at each step. A large sword glistened on his back as he walked, reflecting the light from the windows. He cast a look around, with a slight smirk, surveying the room, examining everything. The room had a feel alike to an old church's, somehow. He found it too quiet for his liking. A thinly built man in his fifties was hobbling after him, his beady eyes looking intimidated and dots of perspiration glistening on his balding head. He looked alarmed and downright intimidated of the man he was trying to ward off.

She studied the stranger as he entered and then spoke up. "You are looking for someone, aren't you?"

The sound of her voice made him stop and then turn around smoothly, his hand reaching behind his back and drawing a white gun, cautiously, although in the end he did not point it at her. The retainer that had tried to stop him looked even more alarmed to see the woman and bowed several times, stuttering apologies. She just nodded with an expression showing she didn't blame him. Then she quietly assured him there was no harm done and asked him to return to his post. The man nodded nervously and retreated from the room in silence.

Dante glanced at the woman; he recognized her from the photographs that had brought him here. Up close she looked more like normal lady. She was middle aged, maybe even a little over fifty, with blond hair and gray eyes. Her hair was pulled back high on her head. Her face was narrow and only faint lines belay her age. Younger she must have been quite a beautiful woman, age having only made her seem more matron-like and respectful. Her outfit was simple, a long black dress with a deep blue bolero jacket with wide sleeves. She wasn't wearing the white cloak and with her hands on her lap, she looked like a very respectful figure, like a nun, with something of a noble lady's air in her appearance. She wore an intricate necklace of silver, shaped like a crescent moon facing upwards, decorated with runes and precious stones.

But Dante wasn't fooled; the photographs had given him the impression that she had less of the piety she showed and he was not oblivious to the sense of her powers. It had been a while since he had sensed pure wiccan powers, but he recalled their feel very well. She evidently made little effort to conceal her status from him, much like Tess' old, wicked grandmother, Magda, did way back when she was alive and seething. He chuckled, spreading his arms in a smooth gesture.

"That's the thing about you witches, no room for surprises!" he said with a smirk.

She returned the smile, amused. "My apologies. I've been watching you since you arrived in the city. Your reputation precedes you and I wanted to be certain of your motives."

That confession of hers made him eye her a little more carefully. He hadn't put his gun away yet and his grip around it tightened. Aware of the suspicion she caused him, she reacted to that motion.

"Don't be quick to judge me. I am responsible for the well-being of the people in this coven; understanding your attitude towards us was necessary," she said sincerely, with a soft voice, shutting her eyes briefly. "Why are you here?" The last sentence was said in a slightly different way, having something to it that spelt she would not take trifling or excuses.

"No beating around the bush, I like that." He scoffed slightly, pacing towards her and to the side a little, replacing the gun in its holster, under his coat. "I'll be brief, lady. I'm looking for someone I've known for a while. Heard she's in trouble, so I'm here to fix that, if needed," he said, pacing lazily, eyes fixed on the woman. "You let me see her, then I'll leave."

The woman smiled wider. "Of course, if you wish to see a friend. I'll do what I can. Whom shall I send for?"

Dante's eyes narrowed briefly. He thought to himself that she seemed to be co-operating a little too easily. From what the guy that brought him there, Ricardo, had said, he expected resistance from the witches. Yet he had little to go by anyway, since the man had never come to meet him and Trish in the meeting point he had said he would be. Leaving Trish to stay on the lookout for him, Dante had gone on ahead to check out the coven, taking a risk in case he could find Tess.

"Her name's Tess Templar. A red-head, likes fire--got an attitude to match too," he said confidently.

The witch seemed to look at him very carefully, her smile lessening. As if the mention of that name had made her skeptical. "I'm afraid you must have made some error. There is no witch here by that name," she said kindly. "Are you sure? Sometimes, wiccans that join us choose to alter their names for a new beginning and cast away their old ones. Perhaps she has done so as well?"

"_Why the hell would she change it?" _he wondered. "Huh, wouldn't put it past her," he said, putting his hand in his coat's pocket and pulling out one of the pictures. He tossed it to her.

The High Priestess raised her hand and instead of falling by her feet, the photograph floated up quickly into her hand and she looked at the picture. Her face remained unchanged, but something in her look seemed to shift, for a brief moment. She seemed to be more cautious, just beneath.

"Ah, there has been some mistake indeed. This is _Celia_. However, I doubt she is the person you are looking for."

Dante's eyes narrowed. _"There we go…I thought you were making it too easy, lady,"_ he thought, getting frustrated.

"Look, I don't waste my time solving riddles. I know you people aren't saints. That's the girl I came looking for, so better get her here, before my trigger finger starts to itch," he said, his tone hinting a real threat.

She stared at him intently, her smile lessening even more now. "Very well. I will send for her," Regina said, getting up and walking towards one of the doors. It opened as she approached and a younger witch, with brown hair, stepped out.

The High Priestess spoke with the younger witch, Vanessa, for a moment. Vanessa nodded and retreated back into the door. She walked back to the stone bench and sat down again.

"She is coming," she said sweetly. "Of course, I must stay; she needs to answer some questions of my own now. Celia never has mentioned being familiar with the son of Sparda."

Dante's eyes narrowed again, briefly. As expected, this witch knew with whom she was dealing with. The way she spoke at that moment reminded him of Magda again, although this witch was more tactful and reserved in her otherwise obvious wariness about a half-demon. At least Magda had been clear about how she felt; this witch was keeping her cards close.

He scoffed sarcastically, with a faint smile. "Hey, leave my old man out of this."

She only smiled cryptically.

A moment later, the door opened again. Dante looked over, somewhat eagerly. Although the photos he'd seen had somewhat prepared him, he was still stunned for a brief moment, as the woman from the photo walked in. He felt his eyebrows rising up to his forehead and his jaw twitched slightly; he couldn't speak right away, taken by surprise as he was. He nearly failed to recognize her.

Ten years had really done much to change her. Although she remained familiar in many aspects, time had altered her more than it had done him. Her hair was still the same kind of deep red and cut in the same chin-length manner that he remembered her with, but her face looked different. Its lines were quite softer now, her chin still rounded but firm and willful, showing part of that stubbornness he remembered from her. Her mouth was relaxed in a calm expression, contrary to her past manner of pinching her lips together, discontent yet more feminine. Her eyes also maintained a hint of her old defiance and coldness, but now contained a more solemn and haughty, but mature confidence.

She was taller than he remembered and her figure was now finely formed with a medium sized chest, a thin waist with pleasantly wider pelvis with curved thighs. A black, long skirt clung to her perfectly, sporting a purple Celtic weave pattern and two slits on either side allowing her legs to show a bit as she walked. She wore a black strap shirt and a deep purple shirt over it, its neckline draping low to leave her shoulders bare, along with black lace arm-warmers and ashen brown boots. A handsome silk choker was wrapped around her neck with a large silver cross with curved edges attached to it.

As soon as he overcame the initial surprise, he was about to say something to greet her, but her steeled gaze stopped him cold. He'd forgotten how imposing it could be when she wanted it to. She could've stopped a whole demon legion in their tracks. She walked right past him, as if he wasn't there, stopping right in front of the High Priestess. Even though she had shown coldness in the past, there was something vaguely cross and forbidding in her look that made him lose his will to speak. Something about her behavior was just off.

"You wished to see me?" she asked the High Priestess, respectfully.

Dante shrugged, his hands rising slightly above his waistline, palms up, in a displeased gesture. "Well, hello to you too, Twig!" he said sarcastically, quite put off. He never expected her to have abolished her 'shrewish' manners completely, but such a cold shoulder, even in front of the other woman, was truly unlike her.

Unless she _wanted_ to ignore him.

The redhead turned around to face him. For a moment, she seemed conflicted, her eyes not exactly focused, but it was gone before it registered. Her look was calm, even cold. "Do I…know you?" she asked, sounding like she saw him for the first time.

"Celia, this man claims he knows you," the High Priestess said politely. "He says he knows you as 'Tess'. Is this true, child?"

The young woman looked a little confused, looking at him up and down and then back to Regina. "No, High Priestess Regina, I've never seen him before," she stated, with a completely straight face.

Regina gave Dante a perplexed look.

Dante himself scoffed spontaneously, his tone showing that behind his humor, he was puzzled by what he perceived to be acting by her part. He recalled the way she spoke about this coven the last time he saw her. She had mentioned they were dangerous and manipulative—but what could she have to worry about now, when she was all grown up and beyond doubt very well able to just up and leave them. Besides, that is, having him to back her up if necessary. There was little reason for her to pretend not to know him.

"_I hate pretending."_ That's what she had told him ten years ago.

"_So what's with her? The hell did these freaks do to her?" _he thought, the idea of brainwashing creeping into the corner of his mind.

"Hey, what's the deal, Tess? Forgot me already? It's me, Dante," he said, pointing his thumbs at his face.

She just looked back at him with a blank, curious look. "I know who you are, son of Sparda. I've heard of you, like everyone here," she said, and her defiant tone was unmistakable. "But I don't _know_ you. And my name is not _Tess, _it never was . It's Celia."

_Son of Sparda_. Tess had never called him that and she had said she never would. He shook his head, finally losing his smile. "Alright, what the _hell_ are you trying to pull off here, Twig!? I dragged my ass out here for ya, 'cuz some nut called, saying you were in danger—but I get here and you're just playing around!" he said sharply, losing the last of his patience. "I've had enough of this crap, _Celia—_whatever _that_ name is all about—so start explaining yourself!"

Regina's eyes narrowed very slightly when he mentioned that someone had called him there, but the young woman, facing Dante, never noticed. She just stared at him, a little taken aback from his confrontational attitude. She seemed to be struggling to keep her face straight and unchanged, but appeared to fail a little.

"Get a grip of yourself, pal, I may respect the legacy you carry, but you're starting to piss me off!" she hissed, somewhat surprising him.

"_Now that's the Twig I remember,"_ he thought.

The High Priestess intervened at last. "That will be enough!" she said decisively then looked at Dante. "Your reasons may be important but I cannot allow you to harass the wiccans of my coven. Can't you fathom the idea that you may as well have been misinformed?" she said in a determined, but calm tone, placing her hand on Celia's shoulder. "Celia," she added, addressing her.

The redhead looked at her. "Yes?"

"I understand if you are still upset from you previous punishment, but control yourself, child. Do not make me discipline you for disrespect again in such a short time. Let's resolve this. You're sure you've never met him before?"

She seemed to calm down instantly following the woman's indirect threat. "No, never," she replied coolly, turning back to him. "I'm sorry; perhaps your sources are mistaken after all."

"Perhaps indeed," Regina said while looking at Dante, though she didn't sound like she believed it. "I know you well, Celia, you don't lie."

Dante got increasingly frustrated. He was dead certain this was Tess, yet she was playing games with him, looking at him the way she was. She _recognized_ him, all too well and he knew it perfectly just from the look in her eyes, but she refused to admit it. It couldn't be because she feared the older woman; she seemed determined to make him leave, empty-handed.

"Well, if we're done here—" Celia started, about to walk away.

He took hold of her wrist. "Hold it there, Tess, Celia or whatever the hell you're called! I'm not done talking with you—"

"Hey!" she reacted, violently pulling her arm away from him. "Look man, I'm not the chick you're looking for! So suck it up, you got it wrong. Piss off!" she said, storming off past him and out the double doors before he could stop her. That kind of reaction—that was _definitely_ her.

And it _still_ frustrated him.

Regina shook her head. "That's why she's been disciplined," she sighed. "Always the rogue and back-talker. Like a child, sometimes," she went on, crossing her arms and shaking her head sadly. "I suggest you leave her be, Dante. She obviously isn't your old friend. Your sources are mistaken."

Dante stared at her. "Yeah, well my gut says otherwise."

He strode out of the hall and out the double doors, but when he stepped outside she was nowhere in sight. He looked around and realized that he couldn't even feel that presence of hers anymore, or the other witch's. He turned around and saw a blank wall behind him, as if a door had never been there.

He huffed. "Hmph, _witches_," he muttered, irritated. He stormed off down the hallway towards where he remembered the exit being. He was going to find that redhead and figure out exactly what was going on. _"I'm not buying this 'I don't know you' bullshit. That's gotta be her; she always sucked at lying anyway,"_ he thought.

Back in the congregation room, Regina stared at the door she had displaced, making him walk out into the corridor he had come from, but with no way back in. The same would happen to all the doors he went through until he was outside.

"Looks like he will be trouble after all, if you had to use one of the structure's defense mechanisms," Vanessa said, coming out from the smaller door and walking up to her.

"This is going to be a problem after all," Regina agreed sadly. "She's getting beyond control and now that he's gotten here too, it's getting worse, as if things weren't bad enough."

"What do you want us to do?" Vanessa asked, awaiting some kind of order.

Regina looked at her with a somewhat sad look. "I'm quite convinced now. Celia is no longer loyal to us, no matter how much she pretends. She has repeatedly been lying to me," she said, looking skeptical. "Keep an eye on her, for now. But be ready to capture her and bring her before me, if anything happens. Do not let her come in contact with Sparda's son, not until we know for certain what exactly her relationship with him is. "

"What about Ricardo? We still can't find him."

Regina walked past her slowly. "That just confirms my fears. He's involved and quite deeply too. He brought Sparda's son here. Celia knows nothing of his re-appearance in the city. Make sure it stays that way, as far as you're concerned."

"Absolutely. What shall we do with him if we locate him?"

Regina's lips tightened. "What must be done," she said dryly.

"Understood," Vanessa replied, only she didn't sound very certain. "And what of the half-demon?"

"Leave him be. I don't want a disaster alike that of the Order of the Sword to fall upon _us_. We won't interfere. Should he come to us again, we will defend ourselves, of course…but we cannot afford to incur his wrath."

Outside of the manor, Dante finally strode down the front steps, casting a glance back at the impressive building, frowning at its worn, neoclassical façade and the dark windows. He then turned back around, marching away from it and heading to find Trish. _"Maybe she had better luck with that weird guy, Ricardo, or whatever his name was,"_ he thought. _"At least he might give me some bloody answers."_

He never noticed, however, a figure watching him leave from the rooftop of another building. It was the redhead. She stood against a chimney shaft, concealed in its shadows, watching him intently. She managed to maintain her calm look for only a moment as she watched him walk off. She then let a deep sigh, her face contorting into a look of disappointment and anguish. She turned, leaned against the brick shaft and drew a shaky breath.

_"That was the hardest thing I've ever had to do,"_ she thought, bringing her hand over her mouth in regret. _"Dammit, Dante. I'm so glad to see you again but why are you here?! You shouldn't have come!"_

She cast another glance over as he kept walking down the street, then turned around abruptly and headed back towards the opposite direction, along the rooftop. She had only one thought in mind: getting some answers.

Striding down the street after that confusing scene at the coven's sanctuary, Dante found himself again in the back streets of the city, empty and quiet under the late evening sun. Contrary to the coven building's renewed exterior, the streets he passed now were flanked by poorer, simpler buildings, some even sporting doors nailed shut and vacant. They looked deceptively common and uninteresting, but his trained eye could tell that demons had strolled through the same streets and had been either chased off or simply moved on. That was something he had seen through many parts of the city that he had been through. It was a surefire sign that something was drastically wrong in this city. He was getting close to the square that he had left Trish in, to wait for the alchemist guy. She was still there and walked up to him as he neared. She actually looked rather discontent.

"How'd it go? Did you find her?" she asked. "I could've died of boredom over here."

Dante walked over to meet her, with a rather annoyed sigh. "Found her alright, but she's back to being a shrew to the bone. Wouldn't even admit to knowing me, changed her name… Just couldn't get a word besides a fit out of her."

Trish folded her arms over her chest and chuckled. "Sounds like she gave you a talk-down," she said with a smirk.

Dante grimaced a little. "Hey, she always was like that, and me she _liked_. Ain't like her not to admit knowing me. No idea what the hell's wrong with her," he said. "But I got a feeling those crackjobs did something to her. What about that guy, Ricardo or whatever—did he show?"

"Not while I've been here," she responded, with a shrug.

"And I am very sorry for that!" a male voice came from an alley opening into the square.

They both looked over, Dante instinctively reaching for his gun and aiming straight to the target's face, but let his arm drop to the side as a thin, unassuming man stepped into the light, squinting his eyes a little at the brighter area.

"And who're you?" Dante scoffed, looking at him up and down.

He wasn't very tall, quite skinny and his overall appearance had a shabby or dignified carelessness to him. He didn't look older than thirty; his pale face was narrow and angular, with a slightly hooked, thin nose with wide nostrils. A pair of oval sight glasses rested on his nose, over sharp, dark brown eyes. His hair was long, down to the shoulder blades, a warm brown and pulled into a messy ponytail, from which long strands escaped and framed his face. He was clean-shaven, but had a very small goatee or 'soul patch' of unshaven facial hair under his lower lip. His clothing was equally unattended to and rather gave away his scholarly nature: dull gray trousers, a white shirt and a loosened black tie with a deep maroon vest.

The man stepped closer to them, a bit hesitantly. "We spoke on the phone, before I was so rudely interrupted by certain…uninvited guests. I am Ricardo De Castro, I asked you to come."

"You sure took your sweet time," Trish said, holding up her arm and letting it drop at her side again in a disdainful gesture.

"Not of my choice, I can assure you," he replied with cool politeness and his accent sounded even more distinctly Portuguese. "I thought I was doing a good job staying out of their radar for the past year and a half, but it appears that the coven's finally caught up with me. They interrupted my call and haven't quite stopped snapping at my heels since."

Dante scoffed. "Oh yeah? What'd _you_ do to piss 'em off?"

Now it was Ricardo's turn to scoff, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "I'm guilty of doubting the High Priestess' reason," he said, bitterly. "What can I say; having an opinion of your own can be a bad habit around here."

Trish chuckled. "Well, don't they sound like a pleasant bunch?"

Ricardo smirked. "You have no idea. The fools are marching to their own ruin, collapsing under their own corruption—not by demons necessarily," he explained. "They claim to be gathering wiccans under a common authority to protect each other, supposedly. But in this age, who besides demons hunts witches? It's ridiculous. Losing their principals, outgrowing their purpose and doing all they can to not admit it, including trying to regulate their own people's minds."

"That's why Tess is acting like she doesn't know me? Bad attitude?" Dante ventured, irritated.

Ricardo looked a little alarmed. "You've seen her?" he gasped slightly. "Is she—is she alright? Have they hurt her?"

"She looked fine—physically. She wouldn't admit to recognizing me though, wouldn't even admit to her own name, claimed her name was Celia or whatever the hell that's supposed to mean—"

"You saw her! Was this within the coven grounds? In anyone's presence?!" Ricardo asked sharply, looking really distressed at the sound of that, fidgeting nervously.

Dante looked back at him, exchanged a short glance with Trish before admitting. Ricardo's reaction let him know he just might have made a very bad mistake. "Well, yeah, that's where you said she was; there was this old lady there…Regina, or something."

Ricardo groaned, bringing his hand to his face. "The High Priestess! God, this is the worst case scenario!" he said, breathing out heavily. "You've exposed her now! No one in that coven was supposed to know her true name! That—that hypocritical bitch, Regina, no less! Regina has leverage on her now! You must have made her suspicious of Tess; she never told them that she knew you!"

Dante looked back, flabbergast. "What?"

Ricardo huffed. "Tess has been going as Celia forever here, because she never trusted these wiccans! To give your true name away to a wiccan is like giving them power over you! They can use it to cast spells on the individual and Regina is the worst in this lot—she's been trying to get to Tess for some time now. This is not good," he added hurriedly. "If only I hadn't been chased off by those wretches I would have gotten to you in time! This is bad, we've got to locate her—"

The rest of his sentence was lost in a violent coughing fit that he broke into, covering his mouth with his hand and hunching over slightly. Dante's eyebrow raised a little and Trish glance from Ricardo to him, as they noticed blood seeping through Ricardo's fingers, while the man pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and covered his mouth until his coughing subsided. When he removed it, it too was bloody and he wiped his hand with it.

"Dammit, curse it all," Ricardo muttered, looking at Dante and Trish warily and then away, in shame. "My apologies. This is why I can't help Tess on my own. Unfortunately, I recently began to suffer from tuberculosis and if I get too stressed--this happens. It…makes me quite useless."

Dante just huffed a bit. "So let me get this straight…she's in trouble because she doesn't wanna play with the rules of these nutcases? How's that getting her killed?"

Ricardo shook his head. "No. There is some actual merit to the coven's suspicions of her. You must have noticed, there is quite a lot of demonic activity in the city and the coven has been affected by it. Members of the coven have been killed and in some cases, it seems that a wiccan was involved. Tess is suspected; they're calling her a heretic, that she's not obeying the coven creed."

"They think she killed them?" Dante said, folding his arms over his chest.

"Not necessarily," Ricardo admitted, shaking his head. "But her choices seem suspicious and they think she's been in contact with demons. And to be honest, I'm afraid that might be the case."

Dante glared at him. "What?!"

"Not by choice, mind you. Tess was always insubordinate and very critical of the creed, but she's not a rogue and she usually has good reasons for her choices. I'm afraid someone must be manipulating her and she has no way of escaping," Ricardo explained.

Dante huffed. "Great. It's almost typical of her to get into that kind of mess."

Trish looked from Dante to Ricardo. "What'll they do to her if they get her?"

Ricardo looked very distressed when he replied, "The creed demands she be put on trial, but as things are now, it's only going to be a farce; an excuse of a trial, just to get her executed."

Dante could feel his frustration peaking, at that explanation, but kept it under a lid of easy-going indignation. "What about Roy? What's he thinking? I thought the old bat said he was gonna look out for her."

Ricardo shook his head again. "No one's seen Tess' familiar for four years now. He simply disappeared from the face of the earth. The coven was always rather difficult about him, thinking he was too powerful and might want to overwhelm them, but he was loyal to Tess. Four years ago he just vanished; Tess and I were unable to locate him. I have no idea what's become of him."

Dante tilt his head to the side, a little awkwardly, glancing at Trish. He knew the old familiar enough to know he was a very tough nut, despite his apparent diminutive stature and advanced age. Roy was a powerful djinn in its primes under his sagely guise and Dante had seen him survive a terrible demon's attack once before, losing one eye, only to leap back into action mere minutes later. So Roy simply disappearing meant something had gone horribly wrong.

Trish just shrugged. "You know what? I think we should find this friend of yours. If things are as bad as you say, she's the likely target. Besides, don't you want answers? Ask_ her_."

"Yeah, might work if she's not around those nutjobs," Dante agreed. "Any idea where to start?" he added, directed to Ricardo.

"It's unlikely that she'd be at the coven after this, but I know of a few places she's likely to go to; the only way to cover them in a short time is to split up," Ricardo said, pulling up a map of the city from his pocket. "I may not be fit to battle, but I certainly know this city well. Try the gypsy quarter to the south and the old section of the city, northwest. She likes the seclusion of the library there. I'll be heading towards the coven's district to confuse them and keep them out of our hair; I can move unnoticed around there easily. Keep in mind; she's a capable witch, if she wants to be unseen she will stay that way. It's important you keep your eyes open."

"I'm taking that library then. I'll meet you back here later," Trish said, glancing at Dante, who nodded. She turned and headed off, strolling confidently along.

"Hey, wait a sec four-eyes, I got one last question for ya," Dante said, stopping Ricardo who was taking off for his search.

"Yes?"

"You didn't tell me; how do _you_ know Tess?"

Ricardo looked at him with an uncomfortable expression, rather warily, then said something that hit Dante's chest like a hammer: "Because…because Tess and I are very close. We're _engaged_."


	4. Chapter 3 Restoration and Fall

Chapter III

Restoration and fall

Tess stormed away from the coven's manor, moving along rooftops to avoid detection and unpleasant encounters, feeling dazed and nearly sick all the while. She had to stop every few paces to pull her composure together and prevent her self from having some kind of emotional breakdown. She bit her lips and shook her head in distress.

_"I can't believe it's coming to this. _Why_ is he here!? I can tell he didn't believe me--I _know_ he didn't!"_ she thought nervously as she finally descended onto the streets from a fire escape along the side of a building.

Dante had left her no other choice now. She had never told the coven her real name in an effort to shield her self from certain spells they could cast on her if they knew it. She had managed to fool them about her name, but not about her descent. The High Priestess –and everyone, really— already knew that she was part of the Templar family, the first High Priests. She didn't want anything to do with that position, naturally, but it meant she had to deal with all the suspicion that her father's reputation brought.

Tess had always been an unwelcomed outcast, product of what most wiccans considered a union of freaks: She was the child of a changeling human with immense and mysterious control over fire –and for a time the foot-soldier of demons—and a witch who crossed the creeds of the wiccans for the love of that man. She wasn't _quite_ a true witch and that had put her at odds with her remaining family, the coven, even with Dante at a time.

But for a while, it had also made them alike: his father had a legacy as a demon who sided with humans and fought against his master and kin and wound up becoming like a human; her father had the notoriety of a human serving demons, and selfishly decided he'd had enough of serving someone else, then left them to do as he pleased and wound up returning to his human nature.

Because of that background, even though Tess was just as capable as any of the higher-ranks, she had never ascended beyond simple covenant. Everyone was wary of her and her power to control fire that wasn't wiccan in any way and her ability of second sight was not making things easier. They didn't trust her and viewed her as something of a freak-show or madwoman. Ironically, her own grandmother had once perceived her as mad.

_"Maybe _I am_ crazy, after all…"_ she thought bitterly. _"If I'm not, then what's happening now will drive me crazy."_

Tess never cared about positions and politics in the coven, she just couldn't be bothered. Other things mattered to her, like finding demons and 'kicking ass' as Dante would have put it. It was the only time she felt like herself rather than a person she only marginally pretended to be. Now she thought that maybe if she had more leverage in the coven, things might not have been so bad.

By concealing her name and keeping it a secret that she was acquainted with him, she had tried to protect Dante from their censure and distrust as well—and now it was ruined. The coven wouldn't be fooled anymore and with the way Dante just barged in –as he always did, she reminded herself—they would be more wary of him than ever. They didn't care if he was Sparda's son, a savior of mankind—to them he was just another being too powerful for them to match. He was an unknown element to them and like the blind fools they were, they feared what they couldn't understand.

She felt nervous and in her confused feelings, she decided she needed answers. She knew Regina would be expecting some answers from her; no doubt she had already sent other wiccans to find her and bring her back. But this time, Tess wasn't going to comply with the High Priestess' demands; she had other problems. She left the city in haste, heading for the outskirts and telling no one where she went.

After all, _he_ had arranged that unless he had ordered her to do something for him, she could come and go at his domain, as she needed--and that's where she was heading.

The city was situated at the base of a mountain region, at the foot of a series of rocky hills with cliffs and ridges that preceded the alpine heights of the mountains to the north. At the very edge of the urban territory, as part of the medieval center from which the city had expanded, stood an old fort. It had been part of the city's fortified citadel, nestled on a large solid piece of granite stone that rose up from the ground almost like a mushroom would have, overlooking the city. In the past it had been a strategic, fortified part of the city's defenses, but now it was abandoned, property of some obscure person who didn't care about the historic monument they owned.

Tess knew its history; it had once housed feudal lords and dukes of the city; given the city's history as one of the most important centers of the Rosengard coven, wiccans had often occupied it, but they didn't always have the best intentions. She was well aware that at least once in the past, corrupt people had practiced demonic worship there, and had summoned demons. As far as she was concerned, it was again serving as such. She paced through the large gate, left open, looking up at the rotting stones as she went through the courtyard in the middle. She couldn't see them yet, but she could feel them. She knew that demons were watching her, hidden from view or pretending to be statues that adorned the inner walls, pretending to be stone gargoyles perched on the ledges of the stone water-spouts and embedded in the stone walls looking like relief on the dark granite.

She ignored them completely as she entered a great hall inside the castle. She didn't need to search for him; she could sense his aura's power brimming all over the place, even though he was suppressing it already. It was typical of him; he preferred a low profile.

She found him in a room that resembled a library and a study on the second floor, with a tall vaulted ceiling that stretched high enough to give it two levels, large arched windows and curved walls with bookshelves built in them. The second level was accessed through a catwalk that stretched along the walls, resting on the built-in bookcases of the first level. It housed hundreds of books, most of them being precious old manuscripts, many containing fine literature, some just old castlelan logs while others, occult scripture.

She stopped at the door. It was hard to ignore the unnerving feeling that he caused her. Tess pushed back her confused feelings and her fear of him. She needed answers and a clear head to try and get them. Quietly she pushed the door open and stepped into the study, then closed the door behind her and leaned her back against it awkwardly, unsure how to question him. She felt her throat dry and the choker around her neck suffocating her like a noose.

She stared at the man standing in the back of the room among the gloomy evening light, musing a book he held.

"You're back, I see; is there something... _wrong?_ " he said somewhat in a sarcastic tone of voice, as he closed the book.

He turned around and his ice-colored eyes fixed on her, his face blank of any human expression, except for a very faint contempt. The once blue lines that crisscrossed his face had turned black or deeper blue, like bruises and were mostly fading away, but there were still a few under his eyes and around his forehead, fading from the center to the roots of his white hair. His skin was almost as pale as his hair. His dark blue coat shuffled quietly as he turned, resting over the dark-colored trousers and matching boots and the black shirt under the coat.

He turned his attention back to the book –a rare poetry volume by a prominent English Romantic poet— absently, as if to ignore Tess' physical presence. She thought it quite typical of him and after two years of servitude, she felt she rather knew Vergil enough to think so.

She stared at him calmly, mustering her self-discipline to not start shouting. "Dante's come to the city," she said, glad to find her voice not shaking. "Did you bring him here?" she asked, in the same calm, casual tone.

"Really now, what kind of a question is that," he asked in mockery. "You didn't see a leash on him, now, did you?"

"Don't mock me," she said simply. "Why is he here? You never said this would involve him."

He put the book down on its shelf and sat down on an armchair beside a table. "I'll mock you if I feel like it, woman. I don't have to tell you anything; you're nothing more than my _loyal_ ...servant. Now make yourself useful and bring me a glass of brandy."

She wanted to resist and argue with him, but it was a direct order and she could not disobey.

"As you wish."

She turned towards a small table to the side of the room that carried a sealed, crystal bottle with an amber-colored liquid and some glasses. She silently poured some of the beverage in the glass and carried it back to him.

"Isn't he going to be an inconvenience?" she asked dully as she offered the glass to him. "He _has_ defeated you in the past, after all," she added, somewhat coldly.

He took the glass and had a soft sip as he reached out for another book near him with the other hand.

"You may leave now," he casually said, ignoring her comment. He opened the book and flipped through a few pages before finding the one he had last read. As he read he crossed his legs, occasionally sipping a bit, he kept reading, not really giving Tess any attention, leaving her to just stand there.

She sighed, folding her arms. "Can't you just leave him alone? You've put him through enough; he has nothing to do with this."

He glanced at her through the corner of his eyes only briefly without a word. He sipped from his glass again, resuming his book.

She started getting angrier at his silence and bit her lip, frustrated. "You could have warned me!" she insisted. "You know we have a past. Is that why you dragged me into this? You think you can get to him, through me? You're mistaken."

Hearing her last statement, he scoffed audibly, smiling and finally looked up at her.

"Hah! Hahaha—you're in no position to judge my thought, choker or not, my dear," he said, fixing his gaze on the strip of velvet that suffocated her suddenly. "I have my own reasons to 'drag' you along with me and they're none of your concern. I will not answer your questions, nor will I make deals with you; you're my slave and nothing more. Think what you like, but I will tell you this much: you do _not_ want to come here again demanding answers from me, or there will be consequences and I assure you, I do not make idle threats, _woman._ "

He glared at her sharply, but mildly musing her as well. "In fact, now that you're here, I should tell you that I have a task with your name on it."

Tess stared at him a little darkly. "Don't you always?" she sighed, folding her arms over her chest and looking down at the floor for a moment. "What is it this time? Am I to cloud the coven again because they're sensing you presence here? Or has someone become unpleasant to your eyes?" she asked, really hoping he would not ask her to get rid of another covenant, like he had in the past when they got too close to finding him or the source of the demons that were crowding the city lately. He always did that; making her do the insignificant –for him—kills he couldn't be bothered to carry out.

She often had the shrewd feeling that he did so just to make her suffer emotionally, but she knew full well by now that he rarely did something without an ulterior motive.

"I am sure you know of the catacombs in your coven. There is a certain manuscript hidden within them that I need: the _Tome of Rites. _I know you're aware of its existence. Bring it to me at all costs and I don't care if you lose an arm for it either. _Kill_ if you have to, I don't care. I expect no mistakes or excuses for it, _Tess_."

Tess' eyes widened a little and she stared at him like she couldn't believe it. She would have to do it, she knew, but she dreaded the prospect. The things she had heard about that book, even though she probably knew more about it than many wiccans of her position, made her uneasy. She couldn't help questioning him.

"Vergil," she said seriously. "You _do_ understand how dangerous that book is, right? It contains knowledge that is forbidden. Nobody can control the powers in its pages. Not even demons." She felt a burning sensation on her neck at her questioning and winced a little. Her choker was suffocating her again.

He suddenly got up and grabbed her by the wrist, harshly enough to nearly break her bones. "You _do not_ question my command, slave!" he hissed, but then talked in a low tone of voice, approaching her face with his. "I'm not concerned about your thoughts, nor do I care for them. Get the Tome, _now_ . Is that clear?"

He did not wait for an answer and pushed her back, letting go of her wrist with the same motion. "Now get out of my sight and don't come back until you have it."

She looked a little frightened as he grabbed her wrist and let a gasp, but she didn't dare show the entirety of her fear. She stepped backwards as he let go of her, composing herself. Every time she dared to do something like this, she knew she was toying with her very death. Vergil wouldn't even have to try in order to completely crush her.

"Y-yes, I apologize. It will be done as you wish," she said, tilting her head in respect and back stepping.

She was dumbfounded by that request and just bit her lip awkwardly. She looked down and away, then turned around, opened the door she had come through one more time and stepped out of it. She closed it behind her, pressing her hand against it.

_"Dammit..."_ she thought angrily. _"Asking me to get that book--what is he thinking?! It'll be hell to get to the book, not to mention its contents,"_ she went on, sighing. _"Why...why did he have to involve _ him _ too?"_

With those bitter thoughts she walked off. _"He's refused to answer me...but that doesn't mean he's told me to keep away from him. I've got to find him...I've got to tell him somehow."_

Meanwhile, a few seconds after the door closed behind her, the soft chuckle of a woman came from behind him as a figure seemed to glide by, with the gentle shuffle of cloth.

"Isn't she such a haughty little thing? You could say it runs in her family," she said mockingly, with a rasp voice that had an underlying, inhuman sweetness.

Vergil interlaced his fingers, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. "She's a headstrong _brat_. I can see why Dante would acquaint himself with her. I hope you're right about her usefulness to our plans, Sasha," he said, glaring at the door. He then looked up at her. "But you've been right about one thing: hardly anything escapes her intuitive abilities. How long do you expect to hide your presence from her?"

"That's my concern. Don't trouble yourself," she replied.

Looking up, Vergil's glance first met with a long, soot-colored cloak, torn and punctured in places from long use. It was lacy and hung down in baggy folds. The woman under it moved to reveal pale white hands folded over her lap, with darker nails, long and sharp. She had a hood over her head and her features were obscured by the shade it cast, but for the faint glow of two amber eyes with narrow slits and some pale gray hair escaping under the hood and hanging pitifully.

The devil witch smirked under her hood, looking back at him. "You and that High Priestess share a mind about her," she said with an amused tone, looking at the door. "She has spirit, certainly...and the ability to undo the rites that bind us, dear Vergil," she added in a silky manner. "But I too, wonder, is your brother really not an inconvenience for you?"

"On the contrary," he said, shifting his attention into blank space, but with an expression of satisfaction, almost. "He has something I need; something that I _will_ have, this time. There will be no mistakes, no unwanted events and definitely no double-crossing, for your and de Castro's sake. Speaking of which," he said, looking up at her again. "Is that man really trustworthy? He has something in his air that does not please me."

He could see Sasha smirked, slowly moving to the side, almost as if gliding. "Ricardo is just a pawn. Don't worry. He brought you Dante, did he not? Foolish little man; thinks he's brought your defeat by bringing Dante here. Whether he realizes it or not...he's going with our plans."

She stared silently out of a window at the city below, with a look like a hungry snake. "But it's true. There is a method to his obsession. Although the threat of killing his precious little witch is enough to keep him in his place for now, I suggest you dispose of him when you can."

He smirked at her suggestion, looking over his hands at her. "Hmph. An advice I will gladly follow."

Sasha watched as Tess left the castle, from the window. "One last thing; do you mind if I take the initiative to spread a little discord between our little witch and your brother? She's gotten a little too head-strong. I don't want her speaking to Dante too soon; the more isolated she feels, the better for our plans."

He raised an eyebrow in curiosity, taking up his glass of brandy. "What do you have in mind?" he said, taking a sip.

Sasha smirked a little and looked towards a mirror that hung in the room, between two bookshelves. "Adrame," she said with a commanding, soft tone, calling something.

The mirror's surface seemed to ripple like water for a moment in response to her order and then a dark yet delicate and graceful, clawed hand slipped out and perched on the lower edge of the frame, followed by a crested head surfacing. An alluring demoness' torso hung out the mirror. She had long hair in an elaborate headdress, with two red horns curling elegantly out the sides of her head. Her skin was dark, like African and run with thin white tattoos. Her hair was a sort of blonde color and her lips were painted white, fitting her narrow, softly angled face. Her eyes were solid white. She seemed to be dressed in a tight-fitting, deep red catsuit, with a large slit in the front, going down to her navel.

"You called, Sasha?" she purred.

"Come forth, mirror demon. I have work for you," the demon witch hissed.

"Adrame?" Vergil echoed as he watched the demoness phase through the mirror as it rippled, curiously. "What's the purpose of this exotic creature?"

Sasha smirked. "You will see."

Adrame cast a pout-like look at his comment and lazily pulled herself out of the mirror to stand in front of them. Her feet were bare, her toes sporting claws. Her catsuit was a full-piece, stretching down to her feet, where it became looser with generous slits, as did the sleeves that began on her elbows. Her shoulders were crested with elaborate dark growths, like scales crafted like erect feathers. She had a long reddish tail, like a whip, stretching out the base of her spine and swaying lazily.

"What is your request?" the demoness asked.

"I have a job for you. You saw the witch. Take on her appearance and find Sparda's son. Make him believe his little friend is no longer worthy of his trust. Turn him against her," Sasha ordered.

Adrame tilted her head to the side a little, musing Vergil as Sasha spoke, then smirked. "Of course. That sounds like fun," she said and with a sly chuckle twirled in place, her lacy sleeves fluttering and when her turn was finished, she had assumed Tess' appearance. There was no way of telling the two apart, down to the way she spoke.

Adrame looked down on herself. "Oh, she's not bad. No wonder Ricardo's drooling over her, heehee!" she chuckled, sounding amazingly like Tess, while patting her thighs. "Bit wider down here than up here, unlike me. But I think I'll enjoy being her, for a while," she added, looking at Vergil, somewhat slyly. "You can order _me_ around when she's not playing along," she purred at him, while Sasha cast an apprehensive look at her.

He couldn't help himself and chuckled, returning the faintly sly gaze. "Maybe after we're finished," he said, finishing his drink and rested the empty glass on the small table beside his chair.

Adrame grinned. "Then I'll give your little brother a good time till then," she laughed, and with a short sound like a chime, vanished from sight. "Catch you two later!"

Sasha smirked. "She is an impudent little whore, but she will follow the plan. If your brother is as you have told me, Adrame's arts will weaver his resolution as well."

Vergil frowned. "I hope she does. Don't underestimate him; he's not a fool. It's not easy to trick a devil hunter, when he himself is half-devil. If she slips up in any way--"

"She won't. Adrame has been studying Tess for some time now, at my command. She can assume the behavior as well as the form and part of her powers. And with what Tess herself will do, in order to achieve the book, there is nothing that will convince him otherwise."

He sighed quietly, somewhat in relief, but it was mostly just to relieve some tension. He reclined, relaxing his hands and crossed his legs. "So what do we do now?"

"We wait. Tess will bring us the Tome of Rites...and rid us of the High Priestess, who so prudently wishes to keep the forbidden book for herself," Sasha said sweetly. "Worry not about the Amulet. No doubt, Ricardo will wish to please you, foolishly hoping you will leave Tess to him," she chuckled.

"You've predicted everything," he said with a minor tone of snide in his voice. "Convenient…I still find it hard to believe that your agenda would be so dependent on the success of my designs. What'll you do with the witch once the rite is completed? Remove her eyes?"

Hearing that, Sasha's attitude changed dramatically. She hissed angrily, glaring at him. "No! I will neither be satisfied, nor free until the little bitch is _dead_ and _all_ her powers are mine!" she said sharply. "So long as my sister's blood lives, I will not rest. You should know better than anyone what it means to suffer from your sibling's hand."

Vergil's eyes narrowed at her lashing. "Unlike you, however, I do not wish the death of my heritage; as much as I dislike him, I have no interest in killing him. "

She smirked a bit sarcastically. Her voice grew calmer, but there was no denying the venom that still coated her words. "We differ, dear Vergil. Only her death will satisfy me and provide my complete freedom. I've spent enough centuries as a shriveled husk in the service of others, like this; no thanks to my _dear sister_ . You cannot comprehend what it's like...to have had power at your fingertips and to lose it all because your miserable sister took it all out of your hands. Curses like mine are made in blood; and blood, alone, can undo them. Heed it well. I warned you, Vergil, the day we secured this temporary alliance..._do not question my motives_ and I won't question yours."

"And an interesting day, that was," he said, trailing off. He rested his head sideways in his palm, supporting it with his elbow on the arm of his chair.

Sasha chuckled. "Don't be arrogant, _darling_. I know it's hard to admit, but if I hadn't pulled you out of the Pits, you would be nothing more than food for the birds."

Vergil eyed her dangerously. "Careful where you tread, witch. You too, need my assistance in your plans, and don't forget…it is _I _who has power over her."

Sasha cast him an amused glance. "Of course; don't mind me, dear, I have a little talent of crossing the line," she said with a tone to match her gaze. She walked--or glided past him, silently. "I must rest. Concealing my presence from her senses is very draining for me. I will return to the Underworld for now; Semyazas will inform me when she returns. I must prepare for the ritual."

As she walked towards the back of the room, a giant, black viper raised its head from its hiding spot under a large armoire carrying antique plaques and statuettes and hissed, opening its jaws wide, before retreating under it again.

"You'd best prepare yourself as well. Ricardo will come to see you...soon," she said, before raising her hand and walking through the wall, which seemed to lose its solidity for a moment, and she vanished through it.

He watched as she left and closed his eyes. The little talk gradually reminded him of that very day she found and allied herself with him. It was nearly a whole month since Dante had decisively defeated him on Mallet Island, when he still called himself Nelo Angelo. Looking back, he now thought that he had been quite foolish back then; he was nothing better than Mundus' pawn. And of course, the great demon would have never allowed him to have his full power. Mundus had taken his free will and his true potential away from him. Perhaps that was really why he lost to Dante in the first place.

The Pits of Despair were a desolate and grim place, even for demons. An endless stretch of barren land under a bloody-red sky dotted with blackened clouds. An expanse of lifeless dirt, riddled with sharp bounders jutting out of the ground and large pits stretching open like gapping mouths of rotten corpses. They were all deep and narrow like wells, only dry and burning under the tormenting sky. The occasional desperate scream of a demon or the hungry shrieks of scavengers broke the blanket of silence.

Unless they were truly dead, most powerful demons wound up here, when defeated. Barren, silent and frigid, even high-ranking demons grew mad in this desert, stuck in a Pit. Few demons ever escaped the Pits, as their scavengers, the Liches -demonic, skeletal pests and demonic birds that fed on the life force of weakened demons- devoured many of them. Others were simply too weakened to ever recover and faded from existence. It was a fate worse than simple death in the battlefield.

In one of those pits, after a humiliating defeat at the hands of his younger brother, lay Vergil, one of the sons of the Dark Knight Sparda. After Mundus' defeat and consequent second sealing, demons once in his command had fled and become scattered, like a pack of stray dogs without a leader. Vergil, having endured death, suffered the worse fate.

He had lost some of the 'divinity' of his armor; his helm lay not too far from his head, cracked and split, one of the horns having broken. He recuperated enough to come to his senses slowly, at long last, realizing where he was and that he now stood between death and decay from here on. His ambition had not been enough to defeat his brother and he had left behind his half of the Amulet. Perhaps part of him wished to let Mundus taste defeat at Dante's hands with that action; but in his bitterness, he would never admit to it. He knew in his head that Dante was now the strongest and soon, he would cease to exist.

"_I will rot, alive, in the Pits of Despair. Hah…how many times has Mundus threatened to throw me here? In the end he didn't need to."_

He slammed his fist into the desolate ground of the place he was brought to by the Laws of Hell. Barely with any strength in him, he gripped at the grains of the ground, similar to sand but black and crimson like ash, gritty and rough; he was unable to rise. The broken and cracked armor now felt too heavy to bear, his limbs felt even weaker and his mind felt like a void. The fear he had for years and years now consumed him: he was wounded and powerless.

Overhead, the flapping of wings and the shrieks of other scavengers of the Pits echoed. Vergil shuddered, momentarily. They were Shtrigas, hellish birds larger than any earthly avian. They soared overhead against the red sky. One of them soared slowly downward, deep into the Pit that Vergil lay in. Its ugly head showed a sickly yellow skin with folds and darker blots through black and gray, filthy feathers. Its eyes were beady dots of black, the rims filthy with puss and drying blood. It sported a large rapacious beak, hooked and jagged. Its talons, with four fingers that closed in a vice-grip snapped together as if the bird was sharpening them to feast upon the half-demon. Its foul brethren followed slowly from above, casting their dark shadows over Vergil.

To himself, he chuckled weakly, but sarcastically. " _I pity these birds,_ _"_ he thought. " _They must be starving to even think of eating me."_

The first Shtriga landed squarely on his back with a heavy thunking sound against the armor. Part of the armor cracked and dented further under its weight. The hellish bird let a shriek and prepared to strike his head with its beak.

A snake's hiss preceded the lightning quick strike of what looked like a gigantic viper, almost as a thick as a human leg and longer than a grown man. It bolted forward from the shadows and sank its huge teeth in one of the Shtriga's wings, injecting powerful venom. The bird bucked and flapped about hysterically, shrieking as the snake's coils pulled it off Vergil, and wrapped around it lazily. The rest of the Shtriga flapped off, frightened by the attack.

"My, my…Decay isn't very becoming of you, Vergil," came a rasp female voice. It sounded human, but its tone was almost serpent in quality, and at the same time had an almost silky tone to it, pleasant but still unnerving.

He frowned as much as his weak state allowed. He inhaled, trying not to breathe in sand and in a low, uncharacteristic tone he tried speaking, only to allow a shallow, unheard whisper.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, reduced to a breathing corpse," she said, clicking her tongue in disapproval. "Yes, the Pits will do that to a demon. Worry not about pleasantries dear, you don't know me." She moved closer. "I don't think Mundus really appreciated my effort to warn him about picking on your little brother—or you; no wonder he cast me away from his court," the voice cackled, as the gigantic viper began consuming the Shtriga, after it stopped flailing, dead from the venom.

"Do you want to be free of this misery, Vergil?" the voice asked sweetly, and he could hear the soft crunching of the sand as something seemed to walk or slither on it and the even softer sound of cloth, like a cloak or skirt brushing the ground. Something was walking around him, coming up in front of him.

The giant viper hissed as though it was still hungry. Vergil could hear the abrupt tone of the voice, as it hissed like a snake as well, ordering the viper to hush.

"Hah...!" he almost coughed, trying to look at her. With some effort, he was able to tilt his head at the unknown woman's direction. He didn't want to admit anything and he wasn't going to ask this person anything, let alone reply. He simply bothered to listen, for now.

"Oh, come, come; no need to be so vexed," she replied.

Looking up, Vergil's glance met first with the rim of her ragged cloak as it draped down in folds. She moved slowly and her movements had a serpent-like quality to them. Her hood covered her face, but he could see a smooth, whitened hand through the folds of a sleeve. The giant viper curled itself near her feet, staring at him, its forked tongue slipping in and out its mouth.

"I'm in the same position as you, after all. Stuck in misery, under a bind I despise," she went on.

"Huh," he scoffed, "do I...even know you?"

He laid his head back down on the sand with the side of his face, not being able to see her past her knees. Her cloak looked ridiculous, he thought, but possibly not as ridiculous and ashamed as he felt.

She chuckled. "Foolish boy, you've grown hard of hearing. I have already said you do not know me. You're not the kind that would have ever sought to consult the Oracle of the Underworld—in fact, in their arrogance, few demons ever even speak to a demon witch, like me."

She paced back and forth a little. "You're right to be wary. I am, after all, a witch who…'sold her soul off to demons' to use some layman terms."

She turned around abruptly. "But do _not_ perceive me as stupid or weak. I'll ask you once more: do you want to leave this wretched place?"

Without wanting to sound more pathetic than the situation he was already in, he replied sarcastically.

"What...could possibly a _beggar_ with an overgrown _worm_ possibly do to get me out of... _here?_ Surely you jest. I know where I am…and as far I'm concerned, you...you could be nothing more than a trick," he managed.

The viper opened its jaws threateningly and hissed at him loudly; curling back like it wanted to lunge, as if it had understood him and felt offended. But the woman under the cloak put out her hand and with a commanding gesture, stopped it.

"Haha, it's ironic that after Arkham, you'd judge someone by their appearance. Poor, poor Vergil. I am the Devil Witch, the Oracle of Hell—oh I've got several titles, but you can just call me Sasha."

She actually squatted down and grabbed his face in her hand, making him look up. Her hand was as cold as ice and the skin tough, like a reptile's. She pulled back her hood to expose her face, a strange mixture of human woman's with reptilian characteristics. She looked young and as a human she might have been vivacious. Her eyes were yellow with narrow black slits and her face pointed and angular, pale with odd dark blue markings or tattoos that were vaguely wiccan in origin. Her hair was a hue of filthy-looking gray.

"I'm like you, arrogant little child, but much, much older," she hissed. "I can take you out of this miserable condition, just like I can break you out of this excuse of a bind that Mundus has you under...but for that your input will be necessary."

He studied her appearance, not surprised of it. He was, however, slightly irked at her primitive reptilian traits, but ignoring it, chuckled quietly just as before.

"In case you haven't noticed, I can't even stand."

She smiled, showing somewhat pointed teeth. "Oh, that won't be a problem, it's just the power of the Pits over you," she said and moved the same hand that cupped his chin over to the edge of the armor of his neck. Nearly effortlessly she lifted him up, with one arm, standing up herself, till he was upright and staring at her in the eye.

"This might sting a little," she warned dryly, before reciting an obscure spell in some wiccan tongue and slamming her open fist on his chest. There was a sharp sound like shattering glass; the armor seemed to turn crystalline and then shattered into tiny pieces and dust. She let go of him, folding her arms over her chest. She had broken away the influence of the Pits upon him, thus allowing for a much more rapid recovery.

"Pick yourself up, Vergil. I doubt a child of the Dark Knight would be overcome by the Pits alone."

Vergil felt nothing more than a spike in his heart—not in the physical sense, but as a 'jump' from inside—from the witch's spell and managed balancing on his own two feet before standing upright. He stared down at his armored hands as the last of the armor cracked and fell off, and spread open his fingers before attempting to feel his hair. He brushed it back and despite the thick, hot air in this place, he inhaled deeply with his eyes closed before glaring at her. His eyes were as cold as her touch and he frowned, but smiled slyly.

"So... _Sasha_ , is it? Where will you take me next? Surely you don't expect to stay here."

"Where we need to go, of course," she said. "I have a specific plan, of course and I won't deny my agenda is different than yours. But we do have one common need: we both want to rid ourselves of a burden; you of Mundus' power, I of a curse. You need my knowledge; I need your assistance in certain matters. A fair exchange, I believe--"

He waved his hand in the air past his head, letting out his laughter, perhaps a sign of mild insanity that was coming to him after all that he had experienced through the years. "Hah-hahahhaha!! Is that right?"

He turned his back at her and walked a few steps on his own at the sound of his remaining chain mail shirt rattling. "Last time I heard _that_ , things got out of hand... _my_ hand, to be more precise, old hag."

She just laughed. "Oh hang Arkham. I've no use in hiding my powers or my intentions. And getting in the way of whatever your plans are would do me no good, like you won't find any real benefit in meddling in mine. If it'll make you feel any better I'll even tell you what I'm after—revenge. All I need is for one silly little witch to die, right after she breaks the bind that burdens us. Oh and...unless I'm getting forgetful, you could get back at your little brother and claim back what's yours—since the little bitch is quite dear to him," she chuckled.

Vergil sized her up, considering what she said. "Well…I see then." He turned again and faced her and presented his right open hand at her.

"My blade is missing. I need it back as well." He grasped the air, clenching his fist. "I _don't_ trust you...and my only advice is that you don't trust _me_ , either. Perhaps we can join for mutual gain for now...but don't expect me to show any gratitude for your actions in my benefit."

"I'm perfectly agreeable to that," she replied, shrugging. "As for your sword, I'll be happy to tell you who has it—and I don't think you'll like it."

She went up to him, staring at him in the eye still. "And to further this little alliance, you should know that you're actually going to have quite some leverage on me—you'll be getting a hold of the witch, for I cannot touch her while under my wretched curse!"

She said the last sentence with a lash of deep hate and bitterness, almost hissing the words.

He considered her expression and just as she did to him, he took his hand to her cheek and chin. "So you'll be giving me free range until our deal is concluded? And what makes you so sure I won't take off on my own before that?"

She smirked. "Because, Vergil, I see and know _everything_ ."

She had grasped his wrist with her hand and dryly said a two-word incantation. Light blue flames had flared up around them and when they were gone they were no longer in the Pits, but rather in one of the lower levels of the castle he now comfortably used as his temporary refuge.

Back in the study, left to his solitary contemplation, Vergil considered what had transpired. Pulling him out of the Pits was the least Sasha could do, but it was enough for him to start recovering. Although defeated, his stamina was still intact, allowing him to heal himself gradually. He hadn't reached his former power still, but Sasha expected that to come about as soon as she had the bind of Mundus on him undone.

He didn't trust the witch, frankly, but there was little he could do without her. They had worked closely for some time, securing their hold in the city and turning that wiccan coven against itself. He understood that as far as he was concerned, Sasha really didn't care what he did or his intentions, just like he didn't care about hers. This was no alliance—merely a business agreement and it had become clear that backing out of it in any way served the purpose of neither. Vergil had control over Tess, which Sasha needed and Sasha had the knowledge Vergil needed to be free.

"_Once Tess brings that book, this delicate balance might shift. She said the book contains forbidden knowledge; Sasha might try to take advantage of it,"_ he thought, frowning. _"I should prevent that from happening, at least until she has kept her end of the deal. If Sasha knows what's good for her, she won't dare interfere with my plans. A seer she might be, but she's nothing than a devil witch. Even without my full power restored, I can easily cut her down." _


	5. Chapter 4 Descent Into The Dark

**CHAPTER VI**

**Descent into the Dark**

"So you know her?" Trish asked the woman, while the latter arranged some books on a bookshelf.

"I do, but why are you looking for her?" the librarian retorted, busy with the books she was replacing on the bookshelf. "Celia doesn't come here as often as she used to; not since the recent incidents."

The old library was quiet. Trish had only seen a couple people since she set foot in it. It was an old building and judging by its structure, she guessed it was a converted church, possibly over a century old. The arched ceiling stretched high above the rows of bookshelves and the reading tables. Light came in through the narrow windows of stained glass along the walls, reflecting off the polished floor of dark marble between elegant pillars covered with green marble veined with white.

"What incidents?" Trish asked as she leaned her pelvis against a reading table while watching the older woman.

The librarian was somewhere in her seventies, a spry old thing, short, with dark African skin in complete contrast with her short white hair. She also had a narrow, bony face and nimble hands that arranged books in their proper order on the shelves swiftly, showing she had held this job for a reasonable amount of time.

"People have been dying and we don't know why," she huffed, steadying her round glasses on her narrow nose. "Old people like me and younger like you. They've all been found dead, maimed in weird ways. Sometimes looks like demon work, sometimes it don't," she added in a sort of gossipy or matter-of-fact fashion.

"And you think Celia is responsible for these deaths?"

The old woman shrugged. "Huh! I don't know. The High Priestess seems to think so. I'm just an old library lady, what do I know?" she said. "It's true that Celia was always a little strange and mystifying; doesn't trust people easy. But I don't know; if you ask me, that girl's gone from bad to worse, poor thing."

"Why do you say that?"

"Eh, things keep going bad for her. Poor thing's not mentally sane," she sighed, with a tone of pity. "Sees and hears things sometimes, not a pretty sight. Four years ago, her familiar went missing; never really got over that, poor girl. And I heard things didn't go well with that man she was involved with…oh, curses, what was his name?" she mumbled.

Trish raised an eyebrow. "Ricardo, maybe?" she asked with a certain suspicion in mind.

"Ah yes, that's it," the librarian said. "I don't know specifics, I'm not a gossiping woman, but I heard that went rotten. He left and then he died; they said he caught tuberculosis due to his alchemy work and died of it because she broke his heart. I don't know whose fault it was really; could be his, could be hers. She's not exactly easy to get on with."

Trish tilted her head sideways, processing the new information. "So if she isn't here, where do you think she could be?"

"I'm not sure," the old woman replied. "We talked a little, but Celia was never exactly open about her life. Not a very trusting girl. I don't even know where she lives. Why don't you try the coven? Although--" she said, trailing off.

"Although, what?"

The old woman hesitated a little. "I don't really know if she has any real friends left in there," she said warily. "Not since all this started. Watch yourself if you get involved. I'm a weak old thing now, but there's some wiccans in there that aren't kidding."

Trish gave the old lady a lopsided smile. "Thanks, lady. I'll keep that in mind."

Finding nothing else of interest in the library of the old city, Trish left the building, a little more puzzled than she liked to be.

"_So, that guy Ricardo wasn't bullshitting. This Celia girl—or Tess, whatever—really has gotten herself into a big mess,"_ she thought. _"But granny back there said she might have a screw loose after all. I know Dante's kind of weird with people…but would he _really_ be involved with a _crazy_ girl? Maybe the old lady's right and the chick just snapped. Besides, that four-eyes is fishy. She said he ought to be dead, but maybe that was just a rumour. Yet he never mentioned that he and this chick were _involved_—"_

She suddenly stopped in the middle of the small square she was crossing and glanced about. She thought she had sensed something, for a brief moment. She looked around warily; the evening sun cast a slanted glare over the buildings, making their long shadows stretch over the small square ominously. A brief gust of wind rustled the small trees lining the pavement.

Trish's eyes narrowed; she sensed something again but it was gone before it registered. This didn't happen often, her senses getting baffled. Whatever was there was hiding its presence pretty well and she reached behind her back for one of her guns while scanning her surroundings carefully.

But the strike came out of nowhere. There was just a shadow and then a small whistle of the wind on a blade; Trish turned and barely managed to pull herself out of the course of a blow that came from above as a bulky form landed where she stood, its arm slamming on the ground with a metallic sound.

She backed away, drawing both her guns and got a good look at what had attacked her. The humanoid form of a creature of considerable size was crouched there and she estimated by its size that it was no minor demon. Standing upright it would tower over her by a couple of feet at least. She took in its dark ashen skin and deep-red hair as it pulled its hand from the cracked concrete and lunged, leaping into the air with the agility of a feline, heading straight for her with the same arm pulled back.

"Huh, at least things are getting interesting," she said, coolly putting up her guns and shooting a volley of bullets at its head.

She raised an eyebrow as she heard the bullets ricochet off a metal surface while the demon was undeterred and landed almost in front of her with a thud and a grunt, just to swing his arm, as thick as a log, at her. She jumped back, pulling her head backwards further as the tip of a long and pointed blade passed inches away from her face. The creature pulled back at the end of its swing and into a ready stance, while she noted that the blade receded into its very wrist.

She was left pointing her guns at it again, taking a moment to take in its full appearance. Its face was entirely covered by a blank, smooth mask without any features that curved along the face; it was slightly pointed at the chin and the top end jutted up in two small horns, like ears. It was smooth and reflective like a mirror. There were no indications of eyes or a mouth, but Trish could see it was staring at her and tensed, knowing it was going to attack again.

She chose to not give it the opportunity.

She opened fire at it, just to notice it crouch and hiss at the gunshots that riddled and jolted it, making it back up for a moment. Then it leaped back into the air again, heading straight for her. She dodged to the side and it landed heavily on its feet, only to swing around abruptly and sweep at her with its right arm, from where the blade shot out again, barely missing her. She had to dodge further and back-step, as the creature swung at her again with its right arm while moving towards her with swift, thudding footsteps, also swinging its left arm at her.

She noticed there was a small shield, like a buckler attached to some armour that ran the length of his left arm and gave him large, curved claws; the armour was brass-coloured and reflective like the mask, reaching its shoulder where it expanded into a bulky shoulder-guard. Its right arm had only a brass gauntlet, while the blade seemed to come from the flesh under the metal, rather than the gauntlet itself. It wasn't wearing any armour on the torso and bullet-wounds there just healed rapidly.

Trish cursed softly as she saw the bullets completely ricochet off the mask and the armour as the creature backed off while she shot at it, while other shots missed entirely. For a being of its size and structure, it was remarkably fast. Its feet were beast-like and it stood on two toes sporting claws, encased in the same kind of brass-coloured greaves. It had a red sash fluttering around its waist as it moved, over sand-coloured, baggy sort of trousers.

It was unlike anything she had seen and the fact it was so quiet puzzled her as well. She narrowed her eyes at it as it backed up from her gunfire to leap at her again. She flicked her arm, lightning crackling around it, towards the creature and sent a powerful zap of electricity that struck the creature and knocked it down on its face. However, before she could perform a coup de grace, it pulled itself up to its elbow and Trish watched her own magical lightning, still crackling over the creature's body, gather and travel down its raised arm and shoot right back at her, knocking her to the ground.

"What the--!?" she gasped, shaking her head in shock, while the creature let a throaty grunt and pulled itself on its feet, some smoke rising from its back due to the hit.

"_Is that thing able to reflect attacks?" _she thought fleetingly as she stood straight while it did the same and then rushed her suddenly.

She expected the attack and motioned to jump upwards and over it, but it reacted remarkably fast, grabbing her ankle as she jumped and pulled her back. Trish felt herself violently tugged back and gasped, then groaned as the creature's brick-sized fist collided with her chest, throwing her backwards before she even touched the ground. She turned in midair and landed on her feet, intercepting its next attack by sending another bolt of lightning at it, this time making sure she was prepared for another backlash by moving directly into another position.

The bolt hit the creature, which swerved briefly because of it, but didn't stop even as electricity crackled over it. One smaller bolt shot off his arm and almost hit Trish at it turned abruptly to keep her in its vision range, turning its reflective mask towards her. It swung up its right arm, the blade shooting out of its wrist. It was still at a distance from her so she couldn't imagine what it was doing until the arch of the swing was reached and what looked like an arched blade thrust wave thundered ahead towards her.

She managed to evade it easily, but she underestimated the creature's capacity for consecutive attacks as a second thrust wave barrelled towards her as she moved and then a third, all from simple swings of the creature's right arm. The former hit missed her, but she cut it so close that she lost her balance just as the third came and hit her, throwing her off her feet. She landed harshly on her back with a surprised grunt, but rolled her legs over her head to move out of the way when the creature lunged at her again and landed its fist where she lay.

She didn't leave the opening its delay gave her and coming to a crouch, she immediately held up Luce and Ombra and charging her electricity through them, she fired another volley of electric bullets at it. This time, the creature was clearly angered and rushed at her, disregarding the shower of bullets and lightning coming its way, raising its left arm to deflect them with its shield and returning the lightning bolts back at her as it rushed her.

Surprised from the unexpected nature of the counterattack, Trish was hit again, knocked backwards and then struck by the creature's fist in the stomach as it rammed her, sending her back first into a wall. It dented from the impact, but didn't give way, not even when it punched her again, this time in the chest, and then grabbed her by the neck. She coughed, listening to a rasp breathing behind the mask. It had abruptly stopped attacking her and looked like it was just staring down at her.

She glared back, then suddenly threw her arms up and pointed both guns at its face and fired. A loud sound echoed as the bullets harmlessly ricochet off the mask and flung upwards and away. The demon snarled and still holding her by the neck, pulled her off the wall and swung her around rapidly, before she could move to break out of its hold. It let go of her at the height of its turn and she felt a sharp tug at her neck like something suffocating her. A sound of metal snapping and the feel of something detaching from her made her eyes widen.

"_Shit—the Amulet!" _she thought. _"Damn thing snapped the chain! How the hell!?"_

She managed to turn around and point her feet at the wall it had thrown her towards, to rebound off it and land in a crouch, holding up her arms and aiming Luce and Ombra towards where it had been but saw nothing. She scanned the area quickly and spotted it again on a rooftop, standing on the edge and holding the Amulet by its broken chain. She grit her teeth as she saw the slowly setting sun glisten off it, tightened in the faceless demon's fist as it looked down on her.

Without thinking, she shot up her arms and opened fire at it one last time, but it simply dodged, leaping onto another rooftop. She cursed, jumping towards the building and hitting her feet against the wall to give herself an extra boost and reach the rooftop. She bound across to the next, but saw no more of the bizarre demon she had confronted. She stood there, baffled, looking around intensely for any sign that would give the creature away.

But it was gone, along with any traces of where it went. It had disappeared in thin air. Trish huffed angrily, returning her guns to their holsters and dropped from the edge of the building onto the ground, flexing her arm a little. _"That thing took the Amulet. Things are getting too complicated here. I better find Dante and tell him about this. Don't think it's as simple as just this friend of his being in trouble."_

_

* * *

  
_

The whole coven building was buzzed with agitation. Things had happened that had shaken the Rosengard coven to the core, making the elders worried about the effects it would have: One of their own was a traitor. To top it all off, the small town was being infested with demons in an alarming degree. Never before had so many demons prowled the city. Many wiccans hurried to leave the manor and abandon the city as many of the citizens did, while others stayed, braving their fear and the unsettling rumours. The High Priestess called most of the wiccans to join the preparations for fortifying the coven's sanctuary, while others were hunting down the heretic.

Celia.

Although she never had been in much favour with the High Priestess, or conforming to the coven laws, she was now officially branded a heretic, a traitor of the creeds. High Priestess Regina had ordered that 'Celia' was to be found and brought before her at all costs.

Yet in all the commotion that the unsettling news and the unusual orders had caused, the wiccans had left fatal gaps in the guarding of the manor. It was exactly the kind of thing Tess needed to gain access to the manor's perimeter without being noticed. She was helped from the fact that she had used some witchcraft to lure some minor demons right in the front of the manor, forcing the wiccans to concentrate on dispatching them. She hated doing so but she had no other choice.

Tess was being as careful as she could be, concealing her presence from the other wiccans. Distracted as they were, they never noticed her slipping around the back of the manor and towards a small greenhouse that was attached to the rear of the building, where they grew exotic herbs needed for aspects of their craft. She propped open a panel of the glass wall and managed to squeeze through, landing on her hands on the other side and making a roll to enter quietly. The panel swung shut behind her.

"_Phew…I'm in, but this isn't the hardest part yet,"_ she thought as she stopped to a crouch, lying silent to listen for any sounds among the tables carrying various potted herbs. _"They wouldn't expect me to use conventional means to break in, so this is far safer than forcing my way in through witchcraft."_

Once she was sure that no one was nearby, she stood up and headed to the greenhouse door leading inside the main building. She opened it only a crack and peered outside, listening. The hallway was empty and silent. It slowly turned dark outside and she could see the waning light coming through windows, illuminating the tile floor. She pushed the door open quietly and slipped into the corridor outside, closing it behind her.

Casting a hurried glance up the other side, she hastened down one end of the corridor, carefully listening for the presence of another person. While crossing the great gallery, she had to duck behind a statue placed in a niche in the wall to avoid the gaze of another witch coming from around the corner. She remained absolutely still as the other witch rushed by and was relieved to see she was completely oblivious to Tess' presence. She hurried out of the hiding spot as soon as the other witch had turned round the corner and nearly ran down the gallery, stopping in front of a staircase.

"_The main door to the Hall of Ceremonies will no doubt be guarded. I'll have to go in…the hard way,"_ she thought, starting up the stairs to the second floor. Halfway up though, she stopped at the wide landing between the floors and knelt by the wall in front of a ventilation shaft's cover positioned on the wall close to the ground.

She rattled it a little and using minimal amount of power, blasted the screws out of their sockets, pulling it off the wall with a small metallic sound. She rested it against the wall and looked at the hole. She hesitated a little, as it was dark and ominous looking. She never really got along well with tight crawlspaces like this; they brought back unpleasant memories. She felt the choker around her neck suffocating her again and gulped. Letting a small sigh and hanging her head in displeasure, she reached out and pushed herself through the opening. It was barely big enough for her to squeeze through and she had to move on her elbows with her head kept low.

"_Ugh…I'm almost grateful I can't seem to put on a pound these days," _she thought sarcastically. The stress of doing Vergil's bidding and the things he made her do had taken a toll on her health.

She followed the vent straightforward for a few meters, stopping over another opening that faced the room below. She was above the Hall of Ceremonies and could clearly see the altar in the middle of the circular section. She listened carefully and scanned the room through the grating. As she expected, it was empty; not even the highest state of emergency would convince the wiccans to venture into this sacred room without permission. She opened the latch keeping the grating in place and once it swung open, she pushed herself through, gripping the edge with her hands as she dropped head first, pulling the rest of herself out of it and hanging on the inner edge.

She let a small gasp as the pull on her arms hurt her shoulders a little. She looked down, beyond her dangling legs and softly fluttering skirt, to see the marble floor, some eight to ten meters below. She winced a little; it was quite the long drop. She bravely let go, muttering as she fell:

'_Gentle air, be not still, to me you heed; dance away, your aid I need.'_

She said it in a strange language, the old wiccan tongue, but as she dropped, a light sound of rushing wind echoed through the hall softly and she felt herself 'cushioned' by a mass of air that swirled under her to slow her fall and allowed her to land safely, but still a little heavily with a thud that ended in a crouch.

"_That wasn't so bad,"_ she thought, eying the room. It was empty and silent.

She got up and dusted off her skirt while heading for the altar in the middle of the large hall.

"_I know the entrance to the catacombs is under the altar, but I've never actually seen Regina open it. I'll have to figure it out on the fly…fast!"_ she thought, walking up to it.

She ran her hand over the aged stone, carved with runes in intricate curving and coiling arrangements. She could somewhat understand them, as they seemed to be simple phonetic runes rather than words. She didn't bother to push it; it was a large slab of solid granite, as big as a large dining table, and she had no chance of even budging it.

Her eyes narrowed a little in thought. _"These runes…we never use them in rituals in this room, so why is it covered in them? They can't be here by chance."_

She rested her hand against a rune idly, thinking hard. There was nothing like a button or a niche on it, although—

She felt something stir under her hand and pulled it away. The rune her hand lay onto glowed faintly blue before fading again. She raised an eyebrow. She put her hand over the rune again, but nothing happened. She left it there, concentrating on it and the glow returned. She pulled her hand away and it faded.

"_I see…now we're going somewhere,"_ she thought. _"This isn't just an altar; it's a guardian. I remember hearing Regina say the altar guards the way, and only the proper word will get you through. The question is…what word is it?"_

Feeling stuck and with time running short, she took her hands off the altar and took a step back and turned around, feeling she needed clues.

That's when it happened.

It felt like walking through a sheet of water into another world. She was standing in an outdoors shrine, with five stone pillars placed in a circle around the altar. It was night-time; she could smell the damp grass and hear the rustle of trees in the wind. The whole scene had a sort of dream-like texture to it. She knew immediately what was going on.

"_My second sight; it's kicked in again. I'm having a vision of some kind," _she thought.

She looked around carefully. Torches set in the ground around clearing of dirt circling the altar illuminated the scene. Garlands of fresh vines and leaves adorned the pillars. She could see bonfires burning in the dark wilderness around the shrine. The scent of straw, holly, incense and cornstalk filled the air. Distant chanting echoed to her ears.

"_A ritual?" _

The sudden rustle of cloth made her turn to the altar again. She gasped, jumping back suddenly. A woman stood in front of the altar. She was tall, slender and frail, like a faery. Her skin was pale, even more so than Tess'. She was wearing a loose, dirty cream robe with a white cloak over it, and the High Priestess' necklace. Unlike Regina though, this woman looked humbler and covered her head with the cloak's hood. Tess could see long black tresses of hair escaping from under it.

She couldn't help herself and moved closer. The woman did not notice her presence and put her hands over the altar. Tess noticed her hands were heavily tattooed with old style depictions of coiling vines, runes and talismans, all done in a deep blue ink that made it look like a bruise. Tess leaned in closer, mesmerized and saw the tattoos continued to the woman's face. She gasped a bit. The woman was very familiar-looking; she reminded Tess of her mother.

"_Who is this?"_ she wondered, but suddenly it clicked. _"Wait. The altar…it's not in a room. The manor was built over an old pagan shrine. I'm seeing the distant past. She's a High Priestess. Is she…?"_

She noticed the woman doing something. She was running her hands over the runes of the altar. She was also humming softly the same tune that she heard being sung by the chanting voices. Tess listened closely and although it was old wiccan, she was able to understand what it basically meant.

'_Come to us souls, for you we sing  
__Your voices filling winds and vales  
__Drawn by the light our bonfires bring  
We listen to your secret tales._

_We turn to shadows, dancing  
In the dark cloak of night  
Round the bonfires, moving  
Round the altar in delight._

_The moon lights our wild dance  
We follow thee to the path's end  
Trembling in the sacred trance  
To the bowels of earth we descend.'_

Tess tilted her head a little. That song seemed familiar to her. She had heard something like it but not exactly the same song. She kept watching the woman and realized she was running her hands on the altar like Tess had earlier, in a certain sequence.

"_What is she doing?"_ she wondered, but then, like a light coming up, she realized. _"Wait a sec; that song. I know it. It's almost like the ritual prayers of Samhain. If I'm seeing the past…this must be the old, original version of the prayer we use now. That's why it sounds familiar. But this version has one more verse that I've never heard before."_

'_The time marks with endless turn  
The gate to open on our request.  
__Unto the sacred grounds we return  
Thy master's name heed and rest.'_

Tess watched as runes were illuminated as the woman's hands passed over them, until a few of them were lit. Her song ended, and she took her hands off the altar and took a step back. Tess saw the altar starting to move slowly, sliding sideways and then she gasped as she realized the woman looked up and straight at her. Her face was narrow, pale and had similar tattoos like her hands that made it look bruised and wild. Her eyes were green, cold and piercing and her hair jet black.

"_Oh God, she's—"_

As suddenly as it had occurred, the scene disappeared. It felt like someone had suddenly switched off a television screen or shoved her through a curtain. Tess felt dizzy from the sudden change, like she always did when a vision ended and managed to keep herself standing, supporting herself on the altar with one hand and running the other over her face, panting.

"_Man, these never get any easier,"_ she thought, annoyed. Her second sight's clearest manifestation, visions like the one she had just experienced, were always rather painful. She shook her head briefly, letting her hand slide to her neck, around the choker. It was suffocating her again; she could feel it squeezing her neck like a noose.

"_I have to hurry up."_

Still rather startled from what she had witnessed, she faced the altar again, like she had seen the woman do. She had realized something important: What she had seen was a glimpse of the past and she had seen the altar open then. Therefore the manner of how it was unlocked had to have remained the same. Before the manor was built, the site used to be a pagan worship ground; it had been built over, but the coven never let the altar be destroyed, preserving it in the structures built upon it. She was certain that she had just witnessed a High Priestess of the past opening the passage and suspected the key had remained the same. She was still uncertain about the order of the runes, so she observed the runes on the top of the altar for a moment. They were all old dialect runes, so it made things a little confusing.

"_These runes aren't in any order by themselves. And they're just phonetics. They don't form any words by themselves. I remember Roy talking about them being on the altar and how odd it seemed,"_ she thought.

There were so many of them engraved on the top of the altar though_, _that she had no way of knowing where to start. She repeated the whole scene in her head, recalling everything the woman did.

"_The song; something about the song is connected to the runes, but only some of them. I only remember the first rune was the one for the sound for 'D'."_

She recalled the song in her head. It described the typical festivities of the All Souls Night celebration. For the Rosengard coven, it was also called Samhain, the day when they honoured the souls of the dead and also celebrated the renewal of life. She asked herself what was different then and she suddenly realized that the answer had been a lot simpler. She slapped her forehead a little in disdain.

"_Oh God, it's so obvious that it's perfectly keeping itself hidden. I can see why the last verse of the Samhain prayer changed; it was practically giving away the key to opening the altar;"_ she thought, pressing her hand on the rune for the sound of 'D'. She figured out that the runes were all supposed to be arranged in an order to form 'thy master's name' which the altar was supposed to obey and open.

"_Nobody could tell me what sort of worship ground the altar was meant for, but Roy figured it out. This worship ground was originally erected in honor of _Dian Cecht_, the healing god of the Celtic religion, during the early dark ages, when some wiccan Celts ended up here. That's the name." _

She began pressing the runes in the order of sounds that produced the name of the healer god.

"_It's harder with the old writing because the sounds don't match up exactly,"_ she thought, watching the runes light up as she kept her hand over each._ "You better not make me sing."_

They remained lit even as she took her hand off and then took a hesitant step backwards. The altar didn't seem like it was going to move and Tess felt disappointed, certain she had got it wrong.

She let a small gasp though and jumped, startled, when a loud creak was heard from the ground under the altar and then saw the altar sliding to the side slowly, revealing a set of stairs under it, leading deep into the darkness that opened below. She shuddered a little, as a cold draft came from the opening and chilled her.

"_I hate cold, dark places,"_ she thought, looking in. She could only see a little bit beyond the first three steps, due to the lack of light. She sighed a bit and determinedly went down the steps, holding up her hand to conjure a ball of fire that hovered by her brightly, to use as a lighting source.

"_Ugh, this is damp and cold as hell_," she thought, rubbing her arms as she went down the narrow stairway. She noted that it was quite old, carved straight into the rock. _"Limestone. Makes sense, natural caves form in limestone and it's easy to carve. No wonder there's a catacomb network under the city. Must date back to the Roman Empire or something like that."_

She cast a glance back up the stairs before continuing down, then did a double take as she heard the grinding sound of stone.

"Oh, shit!" she cursed, motioning to run back up, but she was too late. The altar slid in place with a loud thud, sinking the narrow staircase in absolute darkness, except for the small sphere of fire she kept lit and hovering beside her.

"I freakin' find out how to get in here," Tess huffed, shaking her head. "And yet I can't predict this blatantly obvious detail. Wonderful."

She shook her head in disdain and looked at the rest of the stairway ahead. She could now see a faint glimpse of some kind of light in the bottom, and so she bravely kept going down.


	6. Chapter 5 Offering of Judas

**Chapter V **

**Offering of Judas**

The great hall of the castle was silent and lit quite inadequately for the late evening hours. The expensive, crystal chandelier overhead was dark, the only lighting being some small light fixtures along one of the walls. Each fixture was mounted on the walls between six grand windows with ornamental framework and their top halves featuring beautiful stained glass decoration of blood-red roses.

Sasha glided in through a wall that rippled like water as she passed. She seemed a little irritated under her heavy hood, with her hands folded together under her cloak's flowing, ripped sleeves.

"Vergil," she said softly, "That imbecile Ricardo has finally come back to us. He's bringing it for you. I expect you're aware of what he's been up to."

Her voice barely echoed in the room, despite the vastness of hall, once a lavish dining room for the delectable guests and the castellans. It now lay unkempt, the candlesticks melted in their chandeliers on the polished wood surface of a massive table, large enough to accommodate almost thirty guests, with as many elegant, renaissance chairs on either side and both ends. A few of the large windows were open, the wind making the dark blue, satin curtains hanging from them flutter softly, consisting more or less the only other sound in the room.

Vergil was setting up a drink on his own from the collection of various liquid spirits on an ornate, wooden table along one of the walls, and just finished putting a few ice cubes in his brandy glass. Though he detested indulging in human habits, he found alcohol soothed the occasional pains and discomfort brought about from the remains of corruption in his body.

"De Castro?" he exclaimed quietly and turned to face her, taking a small sip from his glass and glaring at her. "There's nothing to be concerned of with him. I know his kind well enough; I depended on his foolishness to draw Dante here. I'm aware of what he intends and I will deal with him soon enough."

Sasha merely tilted her head sideways, smirking. "Very well. He is quite the sad little man; clinging desperately to things past, unable to face reality. He was quite the empty husk rather than a man, when I found him. I don't think he ever had a sound mind to recollect."

He smirked behind the glass as he held it up. "Well, he'll be even emptier if called for. I've had one backstabbing and it was enough to teach me how to deal with the sort."

Sasha chuckled. "Ah, yes. Arkham; such a little fool. But of course, such was the power of the _Tome of Sins_," she said dreamily, mentioning the book that Arkham had once used to raise Temen Ni Gru. "To inflate the ambitions of men, turning foolish people into downright _idiots_," she said, moving towards a window and observing the city below. "Ricardo is clumsy. He has the intelligence but like every human 'genius', he is too weak-willed and impatient to succeed. I've amused myself with wiccans like him, but at least he's had his usefulness, even without knowing it. We no longer need him."

Vergil merely shut his eyes skeptically. "I will dispose of him, then," he said, taking a sip of his drink again. "If he doesn't leave on his own accord, that is. I'd rather not waste my time, nor my blade."

"As you please, Vergil," Sasha said, placating and tilting her head. "I believe the Tome of Rites will be in our hands soon; our mutual freedom is nigh, and then you will be rid of my presence...am I right?"

"Your presence has not hindered me at all. You've stayed to your word in our little deal. Continue that way and you won't have to share Arkham's fate," he said coldly.

Sasha smirked condescendingly. "I will not hinder you further. My ambitions are simple and do not involve or cross yours."

"Suit yourself."

Sasha turned and glided towards the wall again. "He comes now. I leave him to your judgment. If you prefer not to end his life…my bloodhounds will take care of it."

She didn't wait for an answer, merely vanished through the wall, leaving Vergil alone and concealing her presence and power, while still watching.

Meanwhile, footsteps echoed along the walls of the vaulted corridor of the castle. He looked around nervously, his gaze darting from one side to another, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He adjusted his glasses as he stopped in front of the large, double doors. He took a small breath and pushed one of the doors open with a small creak. He could see Vergil standing near one of the windows.

"Vergil," he said in a subtle greeting, walking inside silently. "She's...not here, I hope," he went on, casting a nervous glance about.

"No," he replied, ignoring the alchemist's physical presence, not even looking at him. "Concern yourself with only me, de Castro."

Vergil was idly watching the city through the window, as its lights started shining in the darkness of the setting sun. His hands rested one on top of the other, over the tip of the hilt of Yamato, as if it were a cane.

Ricardo's eyes narrowed a little at Vergil's attitude. As much as he despised the half-demon though, he had to maintain his composure. At least the devil-witch was not present, or so he thought.

"Good, that is fortunate," he just said, coming closer and adjusting his glasses again. "I loathe the old harridan. But to business: I've brought you the Amulet," he said quietly, retrieving the complete Amulet from his shirt's pocket and leaving it gently on the table in the middle of the room.

"Your brother has been quite careless with it. Leaving it to the care of some lowly demon harlot that passes herself for a human. But I suppose Mundus is not a failed master of the art of creating beings; I wonder...whether he robbed some poor alchemist like myself from their secrets," he muttered, stepping away from it and lowering his head in a servile way and wringing his hands nervously.

Vergil ignored his mild rant and looked over him. He raised his arm and directed his hand at the Amulet, claiming it slowly. He held it in his hand quietly for a few seconds, reacquainting himself with its weight and feel after all those years. He took it to his forehead in some kind of symbolic gesture of relief and respect, as if to honor his father, referring to the legendary demon's third eye. He grabbed the chain and let the amulet hang from his fingers, taking it around his neck.

"You've done well," he said. "I'm glad."

Ricardo watched him in silence, still frowned and irritated. "Yes, yes," he said, a little impatiently. "I've brought you the Amulet and your brother's here now, just as you wanted; Tess will bring you that damned book. You have all you need. Let her go. She has suffered enough for your sake and the only thing waiting for her at the end of the line is death. Let Tess go," he said, quite assertively, but without losing his composure, not for the time being. There was a faint treble in his tone, an anxious desire to have his way, making him stand up to Vergil the way he was.

Vergil let out a small, quiet laugh and scoffed him. "You really think you're in a position to make demands? You're a frail-minded fool. I know all about this…this _obsession_ you have with the witch and I know very well that it was _you_ who called my brother here," he said, pacing to the side a few steps and then stopping.

"No doubt you think he will distract me enough to make me blind to your schemes. Make no mistake, my _friend_, you cannot face me and you definitely haven't got a choice in the matter," he said sarcastically. "I will do as I please with the witch and it won't be my brother --let alone _you_-- to interrupt my plans," he continued dryly, with an underlying, sarcastic tone. "Besides, what is the difference between her remaining under my power and being 'saved' by you, when you too have the intentions to keep her, calling your motive 'love' for her? It's arrogant _obsession_, de Castro and you delude yourself that in saving or helping her, she will want to stay with you. I'm fairly certain she wouldn't even touch you with a ten-foot pole, let alone stay with you."

Ricardo grew paler, suddenly and looked like he was trapped. He cast an awkward—a panicked glance about the room and then glared at Vergil.

"Yes, you would know of obsessions, I suppose," he hissed. "At least my intentions for her don't include sacrificing her for my selfishness, Vergil!" he said, throwing his arm aside in a gesture of reserved anger. "This is all about your twisted, _sad_ little feud with your bastard brother. You only care about your ego and power! She never had anything to do with your selfish schemes--you or that devil witch's! She serves you like a dog, you fiend, and this is how you will reward her? A death filled with pain!?"

Ricardo's snapping only aggravated his situation. Vergil swiftly unsheathed his blade and had it directed closely at Ricardo's neck. "Do _not_ raise your voice at me in this childish manner, human. You are pulling your end of the rope more than it can handle," he said, in a brooding tone and piercing eyes.

_"Go on then, fool…make the mistake; show me your true face,"_ Vergil thought, eying Ricardo carefully. He had never bought the 'sickly alchemist' part that Ricardo was playing.

Ricardo pulled his head back suddenly as the blade nearly touched his neck and took two steps back, slowly. He glared at Vergil ferociously, his mouth slightly open, and silent.

"I see. You won't spare her," he said, taking off his glasses calmly, folding them and putting them in a pocket of his shirt. "I should expect as much...from a fiend like yourself. But you are rather wrong about my weakness," he went on, his look turning malevolent. "I _have,_ after all, excelled in the art of alchemy, in my long life. I know ways to gain power that you haven't even dreamed of. I've distilled even the power of demons;" he said, as his form seemed to change a bit, growing bulkier and taller.

"I care not if I can outdo you, monster, I will not let you take her from me like that!" he shouted as he leapt towards Vergil like an animal, his form changing completely into a larger humanoid, with dark skin, deep red hair and his face covered by a blank, metallic mask, reverting to the shape he had when he attacked the demon woman that had come with Dante, earlier. He hurled towards Vergil with the agility of a large cat, pulling back his right arm with the blade shooting out of his wrist.

Vergil found himself surprised at the sudden shape-shift of Ricardo, but not enough to let his guard down. He pulled back, skidding backwards a little, sword and scabbard in hand to block. He scoffed, letting out another small chuckle.

"For someone calling me fiend, you aren't a small one yourself. Taking the form of a primitive creature won't buy you anymore time than your human self."

Ricardo landed on the floor with a thud and the long blade that had shot out of right wrist was embedded into the ground where Vergil stood just seconds ago. It receded into his arm with a metallic sound of friction as he stood straight and responded with a short scoff of his own.

"Hah, I am a master of the science of life. I can do whatever I please with the life essence of anything; even break it down to a material, raw form and then do absolutely what I please with it. I can transcend physical existence. Humans, demons…nothing is beyond it. It's only fair I follow _your_ methods, Vergil, and become what you...up till recently were; after all, I only learn from the best," he said.

He then swung his right arm up and then down, the blade shooting out again and two arched thrustwaves fired from his swing, barreling towards Vergil rapidly, while Ricardo dashed for him again, aiming to approach from the side.

Irritated at being compared to the alchemist, Vergil teleported through the air over Ricardo, as the thrustwaves collided on the wall behind him, causing a large dent and a crack in the stone that run up to the ceiling, and appeared in the air only shortly before reappearing behind him and thrust the Yamato 'generously' through the base of the demonic alchemist's spine.

"I warned you, de Castro. Why did you even bother?" he said dryly.

Ricardo threw his head back and screamed in pain as the blade went through him. "Because...I hate you," he growled, pulling himself off the blade abruptly, making a gush of blood stain the floor and turning around, swung his heavy, left arm at him, intending to stab Vergil with the right arm's blade.

"Hate me if you must. That alone will not keep you alive," he said calmly, with a subtle hint of scorn.

Vergil swiftly dodged and smacked Ricardo's arm away with the scabbard, taking hold of Yamato once again and instantly, he pulled it back to slash across the fiend's back and then thrust forward, stabbing Ricardo in the back of the head, through the skull and piercing the mask, shattering it. He pulled it back, spinning his body around and sliced through Ricardo's beastly neck in one smooth movement, turning his back at him. Ricardo froze up like a statue.

"You really think I wouldn't notice the obvious, de Castro? Why would a real demon wear a mask...? Foolish human. That's all you ever were."

He whipped the blade into the air, throwing Ricardo's blood off of its surface and rotated it so the blade would meet the scabbard. He slid the sword into it quietly, letting only the sound of the handguard click against the scabbard. At the same time, Ricardo's head slid off of his neck and fell down on the floor loudly and the rest of his body soon obeyed gravity and followed, losing balance and collapsing back. Vergil walked away silently as blood spurted from the neck and began pooling around the body, right where he just had been murdered.

Sasha appeared, stepping seemingly out of thin air as Vergil walked past her, musing the sight of Ricardo's decapitated corpse. "My, my," she said with a light smirk. "Persistent little fool, wasn't he?"

Vergil said nothing at her remark and continued walking slowly down the hall. Sasha kept staring the body for a moment, then turned and left, seemingly following Vergil, but disappearing into thin air a few feet away from the body.

When he was left to his own devices, Vergil finally stopped in the middle of the hallway, casting a glance out of one of the large windows. He caught his reflection on one of them, looking at the bruise-like marks still on his face, a sign almost, of his own weakness. He frowned at his own image.

Surely he didn't look as bad as he had when he had first left the Pits of Despair, but the recuperation was slower than what Sasha had estimated in the beginning. Had he been in perfect condition, Ricardo would never have surprised him the way he did. He looked at his own palm, tightening it into a fist and loosening it absently. His recovery had definitely become faster when he took the Yamato back in his possession, and Sasha promised that his powers would be fully recovered to their former level once the ritual would undo the binding still cast on him by Mundus.

Vergil began walking down the hallway again; inevitably his mind wandering to the way he regained his treasured blade.

* * *

It had been almost a month since Sasha had brought him to the abandoned fort in the continental city. It was a preferred base for the devil witch, since it was built right on top of a dormant gate to the Underworld, allowing her to draw power from the demon world, that she needed for most of her craft. To Vergil it made little difference, but he appreciated the solitude and quiet of the place that gave him the opportunity to recollect himself and recover in peace. All the while Sasha had been attentive to his needs, providing him with whatever he needed.

He suspected the reasons the devil-witch was so cordial ran deeper than signs of her alliance with him, but while he needed her assistance for his recovery he wasn't going to question it. He was wary of her, as she was of him, despite how well she kept it hidden.

She had 'glided' silently into the study that Vergil had been sitting in, her hands folded over her lap under the draping sleeves, in an imitation of humble piety. Her hood was covering her head again, hiding her appearance.

"How is your recuperation, dear Vergil?" she asked smoothly as she paced by and mused some of the books on the shelves. Her tone had no pretension to it, but rather a mild interest.

He was idly resting on one of the comfortable antique armchairs beside the bookshelves, trying to read an old book detailing a previous castellan's observations concerning the gate under the castle's foundations. The book's dark, leather cover was old and worn and the lettering in the pages slightly faded, making it a bit difficult to read. His vision was still a little hazy back then; every so often he had squint slightly to read a more faded part. He shut the book as soon as she had spoken.

"My strength is returning, for sure. Although I still feel strange without that armor wrapped around me," he said, resting the book on his lap and looked up at her, crossing a leg and resting his cheek in his hand.

She paced past him again, glancing at the books. "Worry not," she said. "You'll recover most of your power soon and the ritual will restore your powers to their former, pure state. But that's not going to happen on its own," she added with a small smirk.

Vergil turned his head slightly, looking at her with the corner of his eye. "I know. Retrieving my blade would surely restore a vestige of the power that was taken from me," he said pointedly, curious of how the witch was going to react to such a demand.

Sasha studied him a bit. "That should be convenient. You will need your best potential for this endeavor."

He was pleased with that answer. She did not hesitate to agree. "I'll retrieve it on my own; that much power I can certainly muster. All I need is a temporary weapon," he said, rising from the chair confidently. "Now then...where's my Yamato? I remember you saying I wouldn't like to know who has it."

She walked past him slowly again, her tone somewhat sarcastic. "A temperamental _brat_; he is a false halfling, once a simple human, claimed by some to have part of Sparda's power. His name is _Nero_ and he possesses a Devil Bringer arm. But be cautious, he is no small foe, although he is a naive child," she chuckled.

Vergil wondered in his head if he had heard her correctly. He couldn't help losing his otherwise calm demeanor and frowned angrily, his voice breaking into a harsher, throatier tone of anger. "What!? A _bastard_ has my heritage? _My_ Yamato in the hands of a human?! And what is this about Sparda's power in _him_?"

For a long time, he had not felt as much anger as he did now. He absently half turned and slammed his tightened fist into the wall, shaking the whole room almost. It left a large dent in the wall, making the plaster crumble, while the bookcases rattled briefly from the force. Vergil let an irritated grunt as he yanked his arm back, breathing deeply in irritation through clenched teeth, finally composing himself somewhat.

"Where is he?" he asked sharply, indicating he wasn't in the mood for trifling.

Sasha held out her hand, saying a single-word incantation. A small vortex of darkness flared up from the floor and a large but elegantly narrow broadsword erupted out of the ground, its shining blade slightly jagged near the hilt, sporting an engraved snake on it, and smoothing out towards the tip. The darker cross-guard was made of two intertwining snakes, with small emeralds set in as eyes, whose bodies also curled around part of the sturdy, smooth hilt. The pommel was decorated with a silver gilded skull held in the open jaws of a snake. The snakes were all carved with detail, their every scale crafted with exquisite skill.

She observed his rage with a calm look. "My servant, Semyazas shall take you to him. But be warned, you are not fully recovered. Your rage is justified, but the current situation advises prudence," she said coolly.

Allowing the sword's tip to rest on the floor, she tilted the hilt towards him in an offering gesture. "You will have to content yourself with this blade, _Decarabia_, for now," she said sweetly. "As a witch I cannot use Devil Arms...but the souls of demons that dared pester me don't go to waste."

Vergil seized the blade calmly in his hand, sensing immediately that it was a Devil Arm of considerable power, probably close to the Beowulf he had once wielded long ago. It still felt quite foreign and sinister, even towards him. It felt quite like he was really holding a living snake full of venom that threatened to turn on him at any sign of weakness, but he knew that his own power far exceeded that. He liked the sinister sensation of the sword.

Sasha chuckled a little. "It's odd. Your brother allowed him to keep the sword. I suppose it is his idea of childish teasing," she said, knowing the effect it would have on Vergil.

He could literally feel a part in the back of his brain snapping as he heard the words _'brother'_ and _'your'_ put together. However, it seemed to anger him to the point of calming him down, as if it had a negation effect.

"Did he, now...?" he said, looking at her over his shoulder, slowly bringing himself into a calm upright position. He looked at the hilt of the blade and the skull reminded him of Rebellion.

"I can only assume Dante left the sword with him for only two reasons. If this…_boy_ has _some_ kind of ability, then at least he must be strong enough to protect the blade—but weak enough for me to kill him. Dante must have known. That sappy brother of mine had faith in me! Hahaha, can you believe it?" he said, laughing sarcastically.

She chuckled. "He trusts in the qualities of human nature far too much, forgetting its countless flaws."

She paced to the side, skeptical. "The exact nature of his powers is not familiar to me, but he may be a challenge. Worry not though. Decarabia's blade is so venomous that even an immaterial demon would become injured by it. To you it will pose no threat--you wield it after all. Use it at your leisure."

Vergil smirked. "Heh, a poisonous blade," he said, musing the sword. _"How fitting," _he thought. _"I do feel full of poison myself."_

He turned back to the chair he was sitting and, albeit forced to wearing simple clothes—gray trousers, a black shirt and vest—he picked up a dark blue coat resting on the back of the chair and put it on before sheathing the sword on his back.

"Take me to this Nero. The sooner I deal with him the better," he said coolly.

Sasha batted her eyelids with an obliging smile. "Certainly, if you feel confident."

She snapped her fingers and a large vortex appeared before them both. "I cannot follow you, unfortunately. To my sadness you have more liberty than me but my dear Semyazas will guide you."

The same large viper he had last seen in the Pits slithered out from under the cloak, hissed softly up at Vergil to beckon him and then slithered through the portal silently, expecting him to follow.

He looked down at her skirt, from where the snake had crawled out, scoffed and even bothered waving at the witch before stepping into the vortex.

Sasha just bowed her head in a respectful gesture, responding to the wave, even smiling a little. Things were proceeding the way she expected.

Fortuna was still much in the process of recovering from the onslaught and destruction that the demons released in the city just months earlier. The vortex Sasha had opened led Vergil and the viper familiar out in a quiet, dead-end street just near the residential district, out of the way of prying eyes. Vergil looked a little disoriented for a moment, looking up and about briefly. It had been a very long time since he had been in such a populated place of the human world. He found it ironic that he had gotten unused to this environment. The snake let a small hiss, looking up at him, its forked tongue slipping in and out lazily. It got his attention and he narrowed his eyes a bit, nodding. It then slithered on ahead, glancing back at him once.

Vergil followed the snake, looking around nearly absently and taking in the environment. The place was almost in shambles; he had learned enough of the incident to know it was the result of some demonic event triggered by ignorant humans and Dante took care of it. There was no way he could have mistaken his brother's 'handywork' for anyone else's doing. He took notice that most of the populace of Fortuna had relocated; streets were mostly empty and quiet and then there was fact that the few people that were seen blissfully ignored them. It had to have been the snake familiar's doing.

Semyazas slithered along, looking perfectly at home among the wreckage on the streets. It led him through a desolate part of the city into an area that was slowly being rebuilt. Just around what had once been an opera house, the snake slithered into a street in the shadow of the grand building. Some people were in this section, working on cleaning rubble from the road. The snake looked at them warily, then continued slithering along, staying very close to the walls of the buildings. Vergil followed it calmly, watching the people work away, unaware of his presence. He never had cared about being seen by humans, but this time it was for the best. There was no need for anyone to know what he was going to do.

Semyazas stopped at the doorstep of a dwelling which was, as it seemed, occupied. It raised its head and hissed at the door, then looked up at him meaningfully. Vergil eyed the building. It seemed to have been recently restored and it was large enough to house several families, but at the time, only the ground floor was occupied. His fist tightened suddenly. He took a moment to digest the sensation coming from behind the wall. Sasha had been right; the power he could sense was demonic in origin, yet different than anything he had ever encountered. And he could tell it was of considerable power. He knew that a head on attack would not benefit him, since he hadn't even by far recovered the full extent of his powers.

Although he rarely had relied in cunning in the past, he was not unfamiliar with its strategic uses. And now he would have to be crafty. Before he even thought it through, his hand came up and he ran it through his hair, so that it wasn't slicked back any more, but rather looked like Dante's negligent style. He had never tried impersonation before, but as children, one of his favorite games with Dante was to try and fool their parents about which was which. And Vergil had always been good at that.

Vergil gazed down at the snake, which stared back at him expectantly, as if waiting orders.

"Disguise my power. He doesn't need to sense that I'm different. And cast an illusion, hide my face's marks and make my coat appear red," he said dryly and the snake obeyed.

It reared its neck and hunched, fixing its stare on him and hissed with its jaws wide open. Vergil observed the subtle changes brought on by some invisible spell, his coat's color darkening into red and the shape of his gloves changing. He glanced at his reflection on a window. His face appeared unscathed and a little colored by the sun. He smirked briefly. He could easily have been mistaken for Dante now. Vergil nodded at the snake and it retreated from view, slithering behind a set of garbage bins that stood against the wall of the building. Its shiny eyes were fixed on Vergil.

He calmly knocked on the door and waited for it to open, casting a glance around. The door opened suddenly and a white-haired youth—apparently, Nero--was at the door, wearing casual clothes, including a long sleeve shirt, completely covering his right arm, as well as a black and red glove on his hand. He looked like he had gotten up from some trivial task, or perhaps even just sitting around, judging by his bare feet. He stared at the person standing at his doorstep with a mixed look of confusion and surprise.

He certainly recognized the face, but did notice some differences. They didn't seem suspicious though because he never had gotten a really good look at Dante's appearance and the only thing that seemed prominent was the change of his coat's color to a darker hue and a more clean-shaven appearance.

"Huh, well isn't this a surprise. What're you doing back here, Dante?" he asked, looking puzzled, but not alarmed.

Vergil smirked, looking at him up and down. The devil-witch was right about him; he was almost a child although Vergil was a bit surprised to find that he too had white hair.

"I was in the neighborhood. I thought I'd drop by and check how the kid's doing!" Vergil said, with his best mimicking of Dante's tone of voice.

Due to both Vergil's near perfect ability of getting into his brother's head and behavior and the fact that Semyazas was masking his true power, Nero clearly did not suspect a thing. He hadn't known Dante long enough to be able to exactly tell difference either. And to top it off, Dante himself had quite bluntly instigated that his brother had died.

"Well, isn't that making me feel special!" Nero chuckled, opening the door to invite him in. He felt he somewhat owed Dante, if not his life, a sort of 'wake-up call'.

Vergil walked past him and absently took in his surroundings. It was a simple abode, not lived in for long, adorned with new furniture and various framed pictures on the walls of the small living room. A door led off to the side and a hallway to the back and other parts of the small house. He narrowed his eyes a little. By the silence he could tell that they were alone and he was somewhat relieved, as it made his plans far easier.

"Nice place you have here," Vergil said, as if it meant anything of idle chat, only to cover up the time he was taking trying to find Yamato, almost expecting to see his sword stuck in some corner or another.

Nero gave a crooked smirk. "Can't complain. Kyrie sure made a good job with the decorations," he said, having a touch of irony, perhaps. "Not exactly my style, but I guess it works."

Vergil chuckled dryly at the youth's low guard. Not even Dante was this careless. Nero on the other hand, frowned a bit as he stared at 'Dante' up and down from the back, particularly looking at his sword. It was obvious not the blade he had last seen Dante with. He wouldn't be forgetting that blade too soon, especially after it had been pointed at his throat so casually. The sword he saw on the infamous demon hunter's back now was not just completely different; there was something ominous and almost threatening about it.

"Heh, what'd you do with your sword? Got it stuck in a demon? This one you got looks like it came out of a snake's gut!" he joked.

Vergil however was unmoved; he couldn't care less about the sword or how Nero perceived it, but sticking to his impersonation, he simply turned around and faced Nero again.

"Well, don't like it, don't look at it, kid. I was curious though, what did you do with my brother's sword? I didn't leave it with you so you could have it lying around like a kid's toy," he said with a jesting tone.

Nero had a slightly smug look as he held his right arm up, pulled off the glove and rolled up the sleeve, exposing the demonic arm that had so abruptly entered his life. It glowed a blue hue with a scaly texture besides the dark orange casing wrapped around the forearm. It had expanded a little bit since Nero had last seen Dante, obviously consuming its way towards his biceps like a parasite. Nero wasn't very concerned about that, yet.

Vergil looked at this arm, sensing that this ignorant fool wasn't going to remain human for long. It could take years for this one, but he knew enough of Devil Bringers to know they granted primitive power to a human for the sake of protecting its host—but it took its toll on their sanity and humanity over a long period of time. Nero was obviously a bit resilient, but he wasn't a real half-demon, not even close. Eventually a person infected by the Devil Bringer would turn into a fully fledged demon and at the worst case scenario, lose their memory in the process.

He crossed his arms as Nero casually spawned Yamato from the demonic hand, holding it by its hilt and manifesting the rest of the blade.

"As you can see, it's still here, safe with me," he said, with a small hint of the tone a resenting kid would have towards a teacher who was asking where their homework was.

Vergil forced a relaxed smile, trying to mask as best he could the hate and irritation boiling up inside him at the sight of this _idiot_ arrogantly holding up his own very sword, once a memento of his father, like some kind of trophy. One thought and one thought only crossed his mind over and over. He wanted to kill this fool so very bad. He felt that he wouldn't be able to contain his anger for longer when Nero looked like he was going to withdraw the Yamato back into his Devil Bringer. Vergil couldn't let that happen. He swiftly took hold of the broadsword from his back with both hands and lunged at Nero, nearly catching him off-guard. The young man reacted on the spree of the moment and they ended up interlocking the blades at the very base.

"H-hey! What the hell's this for, man?!" Nero blurted from surprise.

Something was terribly off. Even with his lesser experience, Nero could feel this individual's strength to be different than the man he had sparred with not too long ago. From the two fights where he faced the demon hunter, Nero had picked up a rudimentary idea of Dante's methods and the way he applied his strength. The way this man held the sword was also different. There was a certain discomfort, like he wasn't used to the blade. He'd seen Dante wield different Devil Arms and not once show like he didn't 'know' the weapon he used.

One thing was certain, whoever this person was, he made Nero feel almost overpowered. He had to take his left hand to the hilt of the Yamato, held with the right hand, because the stranger was putting so much force behind the blade that Nero felt himself losing and the broadsword's blade nearly reached his forehead.

"I'll tell you what this is all about, little _boy_," Vergil said, discontinuing his impersonation. Now was the time to get serious "This blade that you are wielding does not belong to you. It's about time that it returned to its rightful owner."

Nero's eyes widened momentarily and a chill crept down his spine. "D-Dante's...?" he uttered.

"Exactly."

Vergil's tone was dry and cold like tundra wind as he swiftly and skilfully turned the broadsword and knocked the Yamato to the side. Of course, he had no fear of his own blade turned against him. He had not applied enough force to knock the oriental blade out of Nero's grip, but enough to cause the usurper to lose balance and create an opening, even a momentary one. Vergil seized that fraction of opportunity and hit Nero straight in the face with his elbow, knocking the youth's head back with the crushing blow and causing his nose to bleed a bit. He knew that he shouldn't leave Nero with the opportunity to use the Devil Bringer's powers. Shocked from the force of the impact, which surpassed anything he'd been hit with so far, Nero staggered backwards a step, feeling some blood trickling from a laceration on the side of his mouth. The minor injury just healed, but the fact that he even got injured had shaken him. He wasn't dealing with a human, for sure. Nero looked up at Vergil, wiping his mouth with the back of his left hand.

"So Dante's brother is alive after all," he chuckled in a cocky attitude, overcoming his own shock.

Vergil sneered at the arrogance of the human, and pointed the sword's blade at his face from where he stood. "Don't be so cocky. I'm not like Dante. I don't play around with foolish obstacles such as you."

Nero scoffed in Vergil's face. "Really? And how are you supposed to offer a real fight when you can't even hold that sword up straight, old man?"

The arrogant observation made Vergil laugh briefly in a cold, amused manner. "Oh…is that why you're calm and confident? Very well, I show you the proper way."

Vergil spun the hilt of the demonic broadsword in his hand without effort and bent his arm upwards, in a fashion he only did when he was the 'Black Angel' under Mundus' service. He stared at Nero with a cold gaze for a few seconds before frowning, followed by a burst of immense speed that brought him straight into Nero's face when the latter did not expect it and delivered swift, calculated and powerful swings of the broadsword as he took both hands to the hilt, leaving Nero with barely any time to evade or repel the charge.

Even in the latter's relatively weak state, Nero was no match for Vergil's strength. He was left with no choice but to tap into his arm's demonic powers and release Yamato's essence, which was sudden and harsh enough to knock Vergil back. He stumbled back and landing on the coffee table on his back. He rolled his legs over his head to stand up quickly and avoid Nero's incoming punch. The strike of the Devil Bringer arm, packing the demonic force of Yamato behind it tore a large crack onto the floor. Vergil was merciless; he was going to leave no time for another unexpected reaction from his opponent. He had to discipline Yamato as well, as it seemed to have forgotten who its real master was.

While Nero was reeling back from the vicious punch he had tried to deliver, Vergil was suddenly beside him and trespassed Nero's spine with the venomous sword he wielded, the blade thrusting through his back and coming out the other end through Nero's stomach, who let out disgraceful shout in agony, feeling not only the blade but the poison it was spreading in him, like a burning hot pain. It was so drastic that it even brought a reaction from his Devil Bringer; the normally blue glow dimmed suddenly and its hue began to fill with a dark, acidic green. Even Yamato's essence, being part of him now, reacted to the pain and let a demonic roar of pain along Nero's scream.

"Aaaarrrgh!!!"

Nero felt his legs cease to support his body. He shuddered, in great pain and now the only thing that held his weight up was the poisonous weapon thrust through him. Yamato's essence rising from him faded in and out of existence as the glow of Nero's arm dimmed darker and darker, lost in the green poison, like a candle losing its fire to a breeze. Vergil couldn't help a vindictive and sadistically satisfied grin as he pushed the blade all the way through Nero's torso, down to its guard, causing Nero's voice to crack from the unbearable pain.

Vergil scoffed at the pitiful show before him. "As easy as I expected it to be. An 'heir of Sparda'…how pathetic," he sneered, his eyes narrowing in anger. "Scum like you would never compare to the true heirs of Sparda's legacy."

Nero couldn't feel his legs anymore as the acidic pain from the venom spread further along his body. "Wh-what...?" he stuttered, dropping his arms and the oriental blade stabbed its tip on the wooden floor as he dropped it. At the same time, Yamato's essence thrashed briefly before dimming and vanishing.

"I don't know what kind of fool called you a descendant of Sparda, but it is not the case," Vergil said with cold malevolence. "Perhaps the fools of the Order believed they could craft an imitation of the Dark Knight, but if you are the best they could produce, then you're a sad result of poor experimentation. Dante and I are the only descendants. Should another rat like you surface again, there will be no other fate."

Quickly losing his strength, Nero gritted his teeth as he understood the increasing danger of the situation he was in. Kyrie crossed his mind and his heart sank; what would happen to her? He hopelessly prayed that at least she did not return now or she would be killed too.

"K-Kyrie..." he muttered, despite himself, his voice dragging as he tried to keep himself conscious while his senses slowly dulled due to the powerful venom that was sapping his life away and invading his nerve system.

Vergil coldly ignored his opponent's struggles and with a strong jerk pulled the sword back and pushed Nero forwards, letting him drop flat onto the floor heavily. Nero grunted, overcome by the venom at last and only managed to pull himself up on his elbows. Vergil stared down at the felled opponent. Negligently he drew his hair back again and then reached down for his beloved blade, which had been parted from him for so long. He inspected its surface and smiled at the familiar edge. He observed his own reflection briefly, relieved and glad to have Yamato in his grip once again, as it should be. He almost felt like a part of his own body had been restored to him.

Vergil glared back down at Nero, still feeling a bit overwhelmed by his rightful anger towards this 'usurper'. He lowered Yamato's blade near Nero's neck for a moment, considering slicing his head off. But he thought of something suddenly and smirked a little. Abruptly he moved the blade and stabbed it right through the Devil Bringer arm. Nero jerked and craned his neck as he threw his head back in a shout of pain. The Devil Bringer itself was almost screaming, releasing a blazing glow that thrashed, trying to solidify into a giant arm. Vergil, unimpressed, twisted the Yamato and the glow dimmed and sank into the arm again, dissipating. He had reclaimed the Yamato's essence from the arm.

The oriental blade seemed to briefly become illuminated by a sharp blue sheen which moved up and around Vergil's arm, to join his own power emanating from his body. Vergil let a small sigh, closing his eyes and feeling this long lost power returning to his body, filling a gap that been longing for completion. The sword's own scabbard manifested around the blade from the same sheen, acknowledging its former master.

He grasped it with his left hand and calmly fixed his collar with his right hand before heading towards the door, leaving it wide open in his wake as he got out of the now devastated room, leaving Nero behind, who lay on the floor quite still. Vergil didn't care if Nero died or survived; he had gotten what he came for and finishing Nero didn't interest him. He could serve as a message for Dante, in either way.

When he got out, Semyazas slithered out of its hiding spot, glancing inside the house. It opened its jaws, hissing violently and Decarabia became a haze of gray smoke that retreated into a small spherical orb that the snake picked up into its mouth. It then hurried after Vergil, slithering alongside him to guide him back to the vortex that would return him to Sasha's domain. It was not trying to take the lead from him, but rather slithered beside him smoothly, guiding him along silently. Without caring about being seen, Vergil followed Semyazas' lead, simply being pleased that he now had his own sword again and having released his frustration on the 'usurper'. He smirked a little as he thought of how his brother would take the news.

He passed through the same wrecked areas as before and into another dead-end street out of view. It reared its head up and hissed loudly at the nothingness. A vortex immediately swirled open quietly, waiting for them to go through. The snake hissed contently and slithered through first and Vergil was right behind it. The vortex closed behind them as silently as it opened, leaving no trace whatsoever about who had trespassed into Fortuna's remains and possibly killed its greatest defender.

He stepped out into the study again, as he left it, finding Sasha waiting for them both, standing silently. The viper hurried over to her, hissing contently and raising its head. She bent over slightly and put her hand out; the viper brushed itself against Sasha's pale hand then hastily retreated into its resting corner.

"Everything went well, I see. Was the boy much resistance?" she asked.

Vergil's reply was calm, but his tone was concealing the fact that he felt unusually tired. "Not as much as you made it sound he would."

He wasn't pleased with this sensation. It meant that his stamina had been depleted by the mere scuffle with that foolish mortal. He decided not to broach the subject though and trusted that, since he had now recovered Yamato, he would no longer have that problem. He rested the sword on the table in the middle of the room and undressed his coat, tossing it on the chair which he had previously been seated at. He looked at her with a different way; he hated to admit it, but he was starting to get rather grateful that she had made the retrieval of his beloved sword possible.

Sasha's look under the hood was content, but still rather cold-looking like a serpent's. Her tone though was slightly more humane. "You seem content. That is good. I see Yamato is restoring you, little by little. You'll be in perfect condition to go after our little witch soon enough. But first I must do my part. The _grimoire_ containing the ritual that will free us both is hidden deep within the Rosengard coven's sanctuary, out of my reach. It is another reason we need that little witch. She will bring the book on your orders and perform the ritual for us. Her will shall be broken by then and she will not resist. Once that is done...you leave her to me."

The last sentence was said rather decisively, as if it meant something important to her, and she silenced abruptly.

"Is that so," he said and sat back down on the chair, resting the coat on its back and smiled up at her. "And how do you plan on convincing this witch to do all this for you?"

Sasha seemed to almost smile sinisterly. "Oh, it will be you who will convince her; I will merely give you the means to ensure that every order you give her is obeyed."

Vergil's eyebrow raised a little. "I don't deal with witches," he said dryly.

"It is the only way," she said. "I will not have power over her but if you follow my instructions, you will have the power to command her to do as you please, even against her will."

He smirked. "A slave, then?"

"If you prefer that term, yes," she replied.

He couldn't help his widening smirk. It was rather ironic but also sounded like an entertaining idea. After being a puppet and servant to Mundus, Vergil subconsciously found the idea of bringing such misery to another in the same way oddly appealing.

* * *

Vergil again cleared his thoughts from such recollections of the past. He frowned; he seemed to be getting oddly impatient now, with the Amulet in his possession. All that remained was for Tess to return with the Tome of Rites and then conduct the ritual that would undo his final binds to Mundus. He fixed his gaze out the large windows of the hallway and onto the small town, where he knew Dante now was.

"_And again I find myself waiting for him,"_ he thought with a tone of irony. _"That's the way it has been between us, it seems; a never-ending circle." _

_

* * *

_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

First of all, the Nero fans are kindly requested to lower their pitchforks and put out their torches because _NERO. IS. NOT. DEAD._ I wish he were but I still have a small vestige of respect for him, even though his screaming and tantrums (not to mention his boss fights with the One-Button-Massive-Damage) ruined game for me. Anyway, Vergil may have beaten the living daylights out of him but _he survived_, even though he will play no further role in the story, THE END. I just wanted you all to know since I have no valid or reasonable way to add this information in without completely breaking the flow of the story. Therefore, there is no need to leave me with a childish comment me being an ass and killing him. Please, for the sake of my sanity...don't troll me about Nero.

For those of you that, like me, don't like that brat, by all means ignore the entire above paragraph and assume the worst.

Lastly—yes, I am aware that Capcom's all but confirmed that Nero is Vergil's son. I will proceed to scoff at the idea and then go on to ignore it.

End of author note.

**EDIT:** I asked you people to not talk about Nero, nicely. How do I have to say this? I do not want speculation or theories about Nero--I WANT FEEDBACK ABOUT THE ACTUAL STORY for Christ's sake! I don't care what you think about Nero, I don't care what you think of the state of the series now--just tell me if I'm doing well with this story or not! And For God's sake, will you stop it with the anonymous reviews! I'm not going to eat your face off if you disagree with me!


	7. Chapter 6 Deeper Into The Void

_Author's Note: Things are slowing down a tiny bit because I'm having some problems writing. Also--I know Dante hasn't gotten much 'airtime'. Bear with me, I'm trying to build the plot, but I'm certainly not forgetting him. I'm not Capcom (and on that note I wish to quote Ben "Yahtzee" Croshaw: "Capcom aren't bad people, they're just idiots.") _

* * *

**Chapter VI**

**Deeper Into the Void**

Descending further down the steep staircase that she had uncovered under the altar, Tess felt the damp cold of the cavern sinking into her skin and shuddered. She tried to conserve her stamina and only maintained a tiny flame to light her way down the narrow staircase. It continued to be narrow for a while and turned a few times, so Tess knew that she was not moving very far away from under the manor, but kept going down. She had to walk carefully because the limestone steps were moist and slippery under her feet.

Eventually she came to the end of the staircase and was moving along a limestone, cavernous passage. The light at the other end of it was stronger and she didn't need the tiny flame anymore. She shuddered from the cold but marched on ahead, following the rough walls. She had been down this passage only two times before and had a vague idea where she would end up. It had been a long time ago, though, when she was still somewhat welcomed in the coven. Thinking of that made her bite her lips.

When the hallway's ceiling began to rise and the walls widen, Tess knew she was near the end. She exited into a huge, underground cavern, dug into the limestone over the centuries from underground water streams. It had been artificially enlarged a little and smoothed from its stalactites. It got taller the further she went and light came from strategically placed braziers burning softly along the walls. When she got to the largest part of the cavern, she now walked on a set path, covered in cobblestone worn from thousands of feet crossing it over the ages. She threw her head back and looked for the ceiling which towered above her. To the far end of it, a hole opened to the world above. She could see water falling through it and she remembered that above, that hole was a natural chasm, into which a stream on the outskirts of the town disappeared.

The water ended up in a large, underground reservoir which made the cavern look like a natural basin. It was cold and considerably deep. The water coming from above met with the lake's surface with a roar of splashing that echoed throughout the cavern, thanks to the sound bouncing from wall to wall all around her. The cavern's path cut over this underground lake, connected with a large stone bridge built on arches coming up from the water. It had been purposefully made wide enough to accommodate processions and halfway through there was a wider spot, a circle traced on the stone lined with some benches against the stone railing.

That was as far as Tess had ever been allowed to come in the sanctum. Her partial changeling heritage—which she suspected had more to do with her father's reputation than the genes themselves—meant that she could not go further. Regina had told her that eventually she would have gone through some kind of cleansing rite, but that never seemed to happen.

"_Not that__ I'm very surprised," _she thought as she started to cross the bridge. _"Regina may pretend to be kind and pious, but it doesn't take a genius to see that she hates my guts. I'm a direct descendant of the coven founder, Selene; I'm not such a failure as a witch either… So automatically Regina assumes I'm out to usurp her position. Pfft, like I'd ever care to run a bunch of lunatics like this."_

She was halfway across the bridge and could see the small waterfall coming through the cavern's hole directly to her left. It looked a bit more vigorous than the last time she had seen it up close, and she could only assume that melting snow from the mountains where the stream's springs were had been feeding extra water into the flow. She crossed the boundary of the circle on the bridge, nearing the other side of the cavern.

That's when she saw that on the other side of the bridge, the cavern didn't seem to have some kind of way out, or a passage leading further in. And to top it off, a large form was standing just a few feet away from the end of the bridge.

"_Oh great…"_she thought. _"I'd heard the caverns have a guardian, Talos or something, I forgot about that. Just what I needed right now…"_

She was startled as the form suddenly moved, with a loud groan of metal. It came out of the concealment of the dim light, trudging towards her slowly but decisively. It was an enormous thing, almost three meters tall, its form made entirely of brass-colored metal, almost making it look like a plated armor.

"_Shit…that's a golem, isn't it?"_ she thought.

It trudged towards her, slowly increasing its pace to reach her to a loud, heavy jog, making its iron legs thunder on the ground, nearly shaking the bridge. It neared with a hollow roar and she could see the expressionless, helmet-like head lacked any sort of distinguishable features. But she saw it come swinging down with its enormous fist ready to crush her. She cussed, back-stepping a few paces and glanced about quickly. The narrow bridge did not give her many options to move and she was forced to deal with this thing because she knew it was made to not let anything pass. Her main problem was her reluctance to waste time using fire on it because she could not see how she could hurt something obviously made entirely out of metal.

Seeing no other option, she narrowed her eyes a bit and suddenly vanished from her position, leaving behind some thin smoke, like cigarette smoke, reappearing behind the golem's back. Its fist connected to the surface of the bridge with a dry thud.

"_Lucky I'm good at Haze Walking…"_ she thought as she breathed out after the minor strain of the teleportation.

The golem let a sound like high-pitched metal friction, almost as if in anger, as it realized its fist did not connect with its indented target. It wasted no time, as Tess found out and turned abruptly, stretching its other arm to a back-hand swing.

"Wow!" she blurted as she dodged that swing, jumping back, barely out range and hurled a blast of fire at it, aiming for the head. She was surprised at this thing's speed. Mentally she noted that she now had her back to the other end of the bridge; if she could keep this thing distracted maybe she could make it to the other side and avoid it.

But the golem raised its arm, catching her blast and dispelling it with a jerk. It clutched both its fists and spikes suddenly jutted out of its body, along the shoulders, arms, parts of the head and its chest, as if growing out of the metal. At the same time, it stomped towards her with both its fists raised, swinging them down on her as it came.

"Shit!" she hissed to herself, seeing that her fire had no effect. _"This isn't gonna let me go. And frankly…I don't feel like letting it off either,"_ she thought, frowning.

She dodged it again, teleporting backwards again, out of its range and as soon as she reappeared she hurled another torrent of fire at it, watching the flame-tongues hurl towards it, making it back off, but only briefly. She knew that with fire alone she could do little and since it was essentially made entirely of metal, attacking it physically would do her no good. She wasn't like Dante, her strength had severe limits. However, she had the advantage of being extremely cunning and persistent. She was going to bring this thing down, no matter what it took.

As if realizing her advantage over it in matters of speed, the golem swung around to follow her move and looked like it flexed its limbs. The action caused the spikes growing out of its knuckles and arms to shoot off with small bouts of steam, hurling at her like darts.

She gritted her teeth, watching the spikes heading towards her. She hurled her arm up, in front of her, calling out a single-word incantation to create a shielding spell in front of her, deflecting most of the projectiles. Some had enough force to penetrate the shield but it at least managed to slow them down enough for her to avoid them and render their force harmless. At the same time she thrust her other arm ahead, hand clenched in a fist, as if punching something, causing an explosive force of fire to erupt squarely on the golem's face, hoping that would penetrate the metal or otherwise damage the golem.

The impact caused the golem to stumble backwards, letting another screeching sound, as if screaming. It swayed back for a moment, then regained its balance and rushed her again. As it did, Tess took notice of a slight orange tint on parts of the armor, especially where the last blast had hit, as if the temperature of the metal was rising from the contact with her fire. She watched the golem get near her and perform a surprisingly agile—considering its size and bulk—leap as it drew closer to her, attempting to land on her with its whole weight. She let it come very close and then dodged quickly out of the way with a teleportation move and an additional dodge-roll, regaining her footing rapidly. She faced its back as it landed on the bridge again on its feet, with a deafening thud that shook the bridge. Before it could recover, she attacked it with two consecutive, explosive bursts, one on its torso and the other straight on its head, hoping the continuous hits would displace its equilibrium.

To her merit, the successive attacks had an effect; the first hit made it sway backwards and the blast to the head caused the golem to throw its head back with a jolt, making it lose its balance. It swayed backwards even more dangerously, flailing its arms clumsily, trying to regain its balance before she could continue her assault. It was exactly the sort of thing Tess was hoping for and getting in as close as she dared, caused another explosive burst on the golem's chest, to finish off gravity's job.

She needed it on the ground, if the plan in her head was to work.

She threw both of her arms ahead, causing another, stronger blast on the golem's chest. The force was so violent it sent the heavy golem falling on its back with a violent thud that sent a tremor across the bridge again. Creaks and groans of metal echoed through the chamber as it struggled to get up again, its weight and size making it difficult to move. Wasting no time, Tess got as close to it as she dared, holding her arms out and charging up fire. She unleashed it right as she neared the golem, a large torrent of flame, like a dragon's breath, hitting the golem's surface. She turned her face away a little, wincing at the intense heat generated, amplified by the metal that began to slowly turn orange and glow. She hadn't generated such intense heat and fire in a long time and she felt like she was standing in front of the open door of a blast furnace.

The golem let a screeching sound, almost as if finally in genuine pain. It raised its hands and slammed them on the ground violently, trying to both knock Tess away from it, and to help itself force its massive body back on its feet. The vibrations on the ground caused Tess to back off immediately, even using her Haze Walking ability to move away from it and avoid its arms. She lost her balance a bit from the continuing movements and stumbled backwards, but regained her footing.

"_This isn't good. I have to stop it before it collapses the bridge!"_ she thought.

The golem was finally able to stand up again with creaking and groaning of metal as its material had begun to heat up dangerously and expanding. It disregarded that fact though, and just attacked her again, pulling its arm back once more to swing at her with full force. Not willing to allow it to get close to her, with the added danger of being burned from the heat it now emitted, Tess watched carefully at its motions. She could follow its moves because it was slow and the added stress of the expanding metal was making it sluggish. She caused another burst, just as the arm was coming ahead, before it even developed enough momentum. She caught it right on the fist, and the opposing forces caused its arm to bounce back, giving her an opening.

The golem swayed a bit, but her burst didn't quite have the brunt to push it back or cancel the force of its swing; its fist only veered off its intended course and nearly connected with Tess as it brushed by and slammed onto the bridge. Tess let a quiet gasp as she dodged backwards, forced back towards the side of the bridge she had come from, overwhelmed by the heat radiating from the now glowing orange arm of the golem. She gritted her teeth; though the heat was starting to take its toll on the metal, causing it to bend slightly and experience fatigue, she had severely underestimated this golem. In the back of her mind, she was making a speculation as to who could have made it. The answer she came up with made her angry.

"_Beyond doubt, this is Ricardo's handy-work. __If I knew this before he went and croaked it two years ago, I'd have kicked his balls in," _she thought angrily and cursed her once close friend.

She recovered from her last dodge and created a chain of explosions at the golem's legs and feet, trying not to cause damage to the bridge. If it collapsed now the effects would've been disastrous. Her assault had the result she wanted; as the golem was lunging at her, her explosions caused it to lose its balance and fall over forward. She teleported back, avoiding it crushing her as it slammed down. She charged fire again and unleashed it on the golem a burning torrent like a massive blowtorch. The edges of her fire were getting brighter, almost in the yellow or white hues, as they grew increasingly hotter.

The golem screeched loudly again as it gripped the bridge's surface with its hands. The hot flames were taking their toll on the metal body as it began getting up, despite the flames. But the metal had become so hot it was turning malleable and as it attempted to push itself up, one of its arms bent excessively, beyond the joint and one of its legs also bent at the thigh. It managed to stand and limp its way forward against the fire, its whole body now a bright orange tint.

She persisted; the orange glow and the metal starting to bend told her she was close to her goal. She was sweating from head to toe from the heat, feeling her lips dry and dehydrated, but she knew she had to get this golem as hot as possible. She back-stepped slowly as it advanced, without stopping the flaming torrent she was inflicting upon it. The golem, with its softened metal legs finally starting to give way under its weight, staggered towards her, slowly, the fires now turning its body red-hot. It let another screech and suddenly began to flail its arms.

Knowing she had little time left to do anything else, Tess finally directed her fury to the bridge, causing a series of explosions on its surface, right where she knew the bridge's arc underneath was at its weakest after the repeated slams of the golem. Blast after blast she felt the bridge shaking, more violently by the moment and finally saw bits of rock fly about and heard loud grinding noises as the structure began to crack and break apart.

The golem almost did not pay any regard as it neared her, while the bridge began to crumble under its weight, caving in under its feet. It raised its fist back upwards to strike her while she caused a final explosion on the bridge, under the golem.

The bridge finally cracked and split right in the middle, between the golem and Tess. The golem's weight made that end of the bridge give way first, causing it to fall through the broken rock suddenly. The golem and several large pieces of debris plummeted a dozen or so meters through the air and straight into the frigid waters of the underground lake. She staggered away from the gap, hearing a loud splash and then the ear-piercing whistle and creaks of rapidly cooling metal, along with a long and suffocating billow of steam that rushed up, making her back off in a hurry, coughing.

As more grinding sounds rumbled the bridge, she cursed, knowing it was collapsing further. She ran ahead, trying to cross the gap and reach the other side before the bridge crumbled. She jumped the gap, making it across, but the moment she hit the other side, she heard a large cracking sound and felt the piece of stone slab she stood on detach from the main bridge and tilt back towards the water.

"Shit!" she blurted as she felt herself sliding backwards.

Unable to climb over the falling piece she went with it, turning and allowing herself a controlled slide towards the edge of the bridge, while it was still close to the side she'd just jumped off of. The part of the bridge she stood on was breaking up so rapidly that the piece under her feet tilted dangerously quickly towards the water. Judging by the distance alone she knew she could never make that jump and turned her gaze towards the water decisively.

She knew the lake had a shoreline at the bottom and she could get back to the upper levels from there. Without hesitation she kicked off the piece of debris, just as it tipped over and stretching her arms out on her sides and keeping her legs together, started a great dive towards the lake's waters. She could see that the guardian golem she had just knocked in was nowhere in sight, meaning the lake was either deep enough for him to sink or the frozen water had broken him apart.

"_This is gonna be cold…"_ she thought miserably as she gritted her teeth and stretched her hands in front of her to prepare to hit the water.

She hit the water with a loud splash, water hurtling up several feet from her dive, and as she had expected, it was icy cold. Her momentum sent her several feet underwater and she nearly lost her breath from the coldness that hurt like needles pricking her skin. She frantically kicked with her legs, heading for the surface and let a loud gasp as she emerged her head from the water, wide-eyed.

"Holy--!" she blurted, stunned from the cold.

Pieces of debris from the broken bridge above had fallen into the water all around her but thankfully none had hit her. She swam towards the closest shore of the lake, under the other side of the bridge and with her teeth rattling from the cold she stepped out of the water.

"Ugh! The things I do…" she muttered angrily, shaking frozen water out of her hair and wringing her skirt and shirt, both of which now stuck to her skin firmly from the water, outlining her figure more closely than she was comfortable with.

Walking up the rocky shore she combed her hair off her face and looked up towards the bridge. The cliff was not too high but she couldn't climb it with bare hands. She spotted a torch standing next to a small ledge of rock and discovered a staircase that connected the top of the cliff to the bottom, and midway a path that led up and around the cliff. She realized that it must have been where the processions she remembered disappeared to after crossing the bridge.

"_Ah, that must be the path,"_ she thought and started climbing up the staircase along the side of the cliff, going up.

She rubbed her cold arms and then her neck as she went. _"If I don't freeze down here or suffocate from the choker, I'll be lucky…"_

_

* * *

  
_

Trish discovered Dante in one of the city districts. His search for Tess had proven futile and he was irritated: She could tell that much from the bored way he was eradicating sand-based demons --Prides, Sloths and Lusts-- that had shown up in his way. He had no smirk on his face, no desire to even try to make the battle interesting for himself, not even any over-the-top dodging with an amused grin. That sort of 'chore' like manner of his was a dead giveaway of his dullness and irritation. And for Dante, who never really let things bother him, this was something. He noticed her approaching as he cut the last one down with a lazy swing of Rebellion and faced her with a dry look on his face.

"No luck, huh?" she said, smirking a little at his sour look.

"Nothing," he replied with a dry sigh. "Guess you were outta luck too," he scoffed. "And that Ricardo dude's vanished into thin air."

Trish shook her head condescendingly. "But you still think something's not right here, don't you?"

"No doubt," he said sarcastically then sighed a bit, rubbing the back of his head. "Man…'s just like her to make things so hard."

She decided to break the news bluntly. "Gets worse," she said, scoffing.

"What?" he blurted, turning around.

"Somebody was after the Amulet. I had it ripped off my neck by a cheeky bastard of a demon," she said, folding her arms. "I lost his trail but he's still somewhere around here. Wait till I get my hands on him," she added, smirking wickedly.

Dante didn't look very alarmed to hear that, but looked aside and his eyebrows almost joined in a disdained frown. "The Amulet, huh?" he sighed. "Huh…guess I was right. This ain't just about wiccans or whatever, feels more like home turf!" he added, clenching his fist a little too strongly.

_ "Just don't want to stay buried, do you…"_ he thought, as though Trish's information confirmed a suspicion of his. _"Makes me wonder…what've you twisted your head around this time."_

"Not so surprised?" Trish said, raising an eyebrow at his expression.

"Nope, not really," he chuckled, looking back at her and sporting a grin. "Stuff like this doesn't surprise me anymore! Just get my Amulet back! I'll deal with the ever-elusive red-head."

Trish laughed, turning to leave. "Sure, I'll leave you to your hunt, Romeo!" she teased, waving as she walked off, causing him to scoff a bit.

_"But really now…where the hell are ya, Twig?"_ he wondered.

* * *

Tess was still shivering as she followed the path along the cliff-side, gulping sometimes as she felt her footing slip dangerously on the damp and smooth limestone. She nervously kept her hand on the wall to her left, using any little hold she could get on the smoothened stone. She followed it along a short but steep route away from the bridge and finally felt it going up-slope until she found herself on the top of the wall of stone she had been crossing and on a properly beaten path that led deeper into the catacombs.

It frustrated her that she didn't know her way in this part of the underground catacombs.

_"Now I wish I'd somehow insisted on Regina letting me more into the coven's activities. But I just couldn't care enough,"_ she thought and shuddered.

The cold of the underground was starting to get to her, especially after her dip in the subterranean lake. She didn't want to let her teeth rattle so she kept her jaw firmly closed, but couldn't stop her hands from shaking.

Following the path that seemed the most worn over time, she noticed that the cavern she followed it through was carved by human means and not naturally made, leading further into the limestone caves and had very few branch-offs. She bit her lip; her gut feeling told her she was on the right track.

_"That book is sure to be guarded. But I haven't seen or heard as much as a single person down here. Is everyone really above ground and chasing demons or looking for me?"_ she wondered.

Inevitably that idea made her think of Dante. _"Why did he come around...who brought him?"_ she thought. _"Could it be Roy? No, if it were Roy he'd sooner come look for me himself, not drag anyone else into this."_

Against her will, she felt her eyes welling up with tears; she hadn't seen or heard from Roy in four years. She bit her lip nervously as her heart gave a nearly painful jab. She missed him, missed her grumpy and loving old cat, her mentor, protector and father-figure. She realized that what she was doing now, the deceit and the lies had made her feel like a small child forced to do things it didn't want to do. She almost scoffed at herself, likening this act of treason to a child being bullied.

_"Try enslaved..."_ she thought bitterly, shuddering again. Not just from the cold this time, but also from the eerie silence of the passage she followed.

Thinking of Roy made her feel wounded. Dante felt more distant than ever and Roy would have been her only solace. But he had disappeared without a trace four years ago. She had searched for him in a maddened frenzy, even enlisting the help of Ricardo. He had graciously helped and she thought he was a much better person than her, who abruptly ended the intimate relationship they had when he so suddenly proposed to her. Then he'd left, and she was left by herself again. She kept looking for Roy, even making a complete fool of herself in the coven by stirring a scene, worried they'd done something to him. She only stopped when she got caught in Vergil's machinations.

She pushed those thoughts away and swallowed hard to compose herself, running her hand over her face to stop the tears. She frowned as the choker around her neck tightened again, reminding her of what she was doing there.

As she reached the end of the passage, Tess could see the outline of an arched gate ahead of her. She raised an eyebrow and approaching, took a moment to examine it. The arched frame was carved out of the passage's natural limestone, smoothed to a pristine --though aged-- surface, upon which were etched runes of warding, protection and declarations of loyalty. The door itself, two large slabs that closed tightly, was made of some kind of hard wood, carved with raised relief depictions of the sun, stars and moon.

_"Images of fate. How ironic,"_ she thought.

But she took comfort in the fact that she knew how to open such a door. If she had been praised for one thing in the coven, it was the speed with which she learned how to manipulate witchcraft for matters of covering or uncovering secrets. Her insatiable curiosity was to blame, they said. They said it was her curiosity and that damned stubbornness of hers that got her in so much trouble with everyone. Maybe they had been right after all.

She placed her hands on the door and over the moon and sun reliefs that flanked the star that was right in the middle, divided by the two doors. As she mused the design and felt the moon and sun disks were able to rotate she sighed.

"This could take ages. It's just wood," she muttered.

She took a step or two back, eying the door carefully, as if she were weighing her options. Then suddenly she threw her arm up, flicking her open palm towards the door. As she did so, the door exploded outwards, away from her, in a flash of surging red and orange fire with a loud and drawn out roar. She lowered her arm, watching burned pieces and splinters of wood fall to the floor with thuds and the twisted metal of the framework hanging from its original fixtures like withered branches. There was a large blast mark on the floor and the vaulted ceiling, where the door was. Pieces of the original doors hung loosely from the hinges. The locking mechanism, a large metallic round piece with plentiful cogs, clattered on the floor with a large dent on it, cogs flying off as it connected to the stone slabs.

"That was easier than I thought," she sighed to herself with a straight face.

She was surprised the door wasn't guarded by additional witchcraft and it was enough to rouse her suspicions. But the squeeze of the choker around her neck was a clear message to disregard her cautiousness and press on. Beyond the door the hallway continued, though narrower. She hurried along it, almost running towards a faint light at the end of it. By now the bad feeling she had about finding the Tome guarded was increasing.

The corridor led into a large, domed room, about twenty feet high and almost twice across. It was carved out of the natural rock, forming an underground chamber with an octagonal base and a round dome on top; several smaller recesses were carved into the walls, housing large and ornament stone sarcophagi. Torches suspended on the walls at varying heights provided adequate lighting and more of them flanked each tomb. The floor was laid with pristine, dark marble and granite, as were the pillars between each of the recesses on the wall. Statues of matronly figures and revered sages stood in the spaces between each recess and some behind or above certain sarcophagi. The space was dominated by a large statue, almost ten feet tall, of a cloaked woman with her hands held out in a gesture of benevolence but with her face covered by her hood—one of the many manifestations of the coven's Goddess; an encompassing protector.

The chamber's design inevitably put focus at the statue, placed against the back wall; at its feet stood a pedestal of granite, flanked by two torches. Tess could see a book laid on it. Tess instantly knew it was the Tome. She strode towards it decisively, urged by the order she was given from Vergil to retrieve it.

"I'm impressed, _Tess_."

Tess stopped dead in her tracks, almost in the middle of the chamber. She knew that voice; she had almost been expecting to find Regina down there, coming to deal with her personally. Tess half turned, calmly, to gaze at the High Priestess, standing at the entrance of the chamber with half a dozen wiccans, mostly men in the ceremonial garb of the guards, standing behind her. In their dark-colored tunics and trousers, with hooded heads and wielding pikes or staves, they looked almost like executioners. But gravest of all, High Priestess Regina stood in front of them, in her full impressive regalia, her hand around a great staff that stood taller than her of carved wood and ornate metal, topped with an amber gem that gave off a strange, subtle glow. Tess didn't respond to her immediate challenge.

Regina stepped forward slowly. "I didn't expect you'd be able to defeat the Talos _and_ find your way to this sacred room. Again, you exceed my expectations."

Again, Tess didn't speak. She was too busy assessing the situation. Just how much did Regina suspect at this point? And she called her 'Tess', not 'Celia'. Such a turn of events would only mean that she had not believed her act in front of Dante. It was one thing to fool the High Priestess in words and actions and completely another, to face her in person, when the latter had such irrefutable evidence of mischief against her.

"What, lost your nerve now, Tess? You are known for your sharp tongue," Regina scoffed, pacing closer and stopping just a few feet away from Tess.

"I'm still wise as to when to hold that tongue of mine," Tess finally replied.

Regina smirked. "How wise are you, child, if you step so boldly in this secret chamber? Trample all seals and stop at nothing? Is your desire for power this great? I'm disappointed."

Tess' eyes narrowed. "This isn't about power."

She felt the choker squeezing her neck painfully, sending pangs of pain throughout her body, a cruel reminder of what she had to do. Vergil grew impatient.

But Regina's look was one of disgust and suppressed hatred. It made Tess' skin crawl; she knew Regina had issues with her but she hadn't imagined that it was downright loathing. And there could only be one reason for that: As a direct descendant of Selene, the witch that founded the coven and functioned as the first High Priestess, Regina perceived her as a threat. She was neither interested in, nor inclined to think that she deserved such a position, but Regina was irksome about it. She notoriously saw threats to her position often and all around her, so her enmity to Tess was unsurprising.

"Not about power, is it?" Regina scoffed. "Yes, perhaps not for _your_ sake. Tell me child, do you think I am so ignorant of the wiccan powers and laws that govern them to not know a Witch Seal when I see it?"

She glared at the choker around Tess' neck. "You're under the will of another—a demon, no doubt, if their kin's presence in the city is any indication. You have played me foul, Tess, like a viper in my bosom."

"I regret being a viper," Tess retorted, causing Regina's brow to frown and her pageant to murmur in scorn. "But that's what you get for treating me as little better than trash. I see no reason to repay you with loyalty," she said bluntly. "I didn't want to make an enemy of you, but I don't think we're anything close to friends either."

Regina looked full angry now. "Bold words from a Judas in our midst," she scorned, turning to the wiccans escorting her. "Seize her—kill her!"

All six of the wiccans charged forth, uttering curses and spells to bind her and kill her with their weapons. Tess was not impressed; she only held out her hand and uttered one word. A wave of invisible force swept over them, negating their spells and stunning them. The next moment, Tess was among them, jerking her leg in a high-kick to one's jaw, knocking him off his feet and flat on his back. As she reeled back, she swept her arm to the side and a small burst of flame knocked another way back, his clothes smoking where the fire hit, sizzling but not burning through the skin. With two swift punches, another fell to a knee before they could raise their pike and quick as wind, Tess disarmed a woman of her staff, using it to knock out the kneeling man and the woman she took it from with some swift hits.

She dodged out of the way of the other woman's swing, wielding a polearm. She used the staff to block the polearm's next attack, stopping it by crossing shafts with the other, then spun them to push the polearm down and knocked the woman away with another, harmless burst of flame. The woman let a shriek and her momentum made her slide along the marble and granite floor for a few feet, stopping abruptly from collision with one of the sarcophagi.

The last man went down from a spinning kick to the face, Tess having used the staff to push her weight off the ground while turning, thrusting both her legs into his hood, knocking him flat on his back. She stood straight, throwing away the staff.

Regina's steeled gaze still pierced her. "You live up to my expectations. Binding the powers of six wiccans all at once? You have learned more than what was allowed of you."

"Don't underestimate me. You know I have a bind on me and I can't help myself, I must obey it. Don't make it harder for either of us," she said with a hard, cold look, turning around to continue to the pedestal the book stood upon.

The moment she turned she heard the rustle of cloth and saw Regina standing in front of the pedestal, having teleported in front of it, her look now furious.

"So, you persist. You know that we have vowed to protect this Tome and keep it out of the hands of demons—to which you wish to turn it to! Ungrateful mongrel, is this how you thank me for sheltering you, tolerating you!?" she hissed at Tess.

"This is against my will!" Tess retorted, approaching the pedestal without stopping. "Just stand down, don't make me commit any more crimes against the creed!"

"ENOUGH!"

Regina slammed her staff on the floor, sending a thrustwave outwards in a circle that caused the room to shudder and stopped Tess in her tracks. She had a sense that Regina was preparing for a fight and she dreaded the prospect; she had no idea just how powerful the High Priestess really was. She made one last attempt to prevent the situation from getting bad.

"Regina…please listen to me!" she said. "The circumstances—"

"I'm already aware of them, you little liar!" she replied loudly. "You think I'm blind? I already told you, I know—I have known for a while! I let you dwell among us still, hoping to find whom it is you serve—"

"But you don't understand! I know I've done horrible things, I'm trying to stop it from getting worse!"

Regina let a sarcastic, shrill scoff. "Oh but I _do_ understand. You wish to take the Tome of Rites from me, offer it to whoever it is you serve—I don't care whom! You've committed murder, betrayed the order, broken the creed—now you think I'll let you take the Tome? Foolish child."

She walked around in front of the pedestal, pointing her staff at Tess. "You will be stopped."

With a battle now inevitable, Tess was tense and slowly started to circle Regina, keep her eyes on the High Priestess. "I'm sorry Regina, but I can't back down."

"You will not take my power from me!" Regina shrieked suddenly, pointing her staff's top at Tess and fired a blast of white light from it.

Tess dodged it with a quick side roll, the blast hitting one of the statues decorating the chamber and obliterating it. She stood straight from her dodge, jerking her arm out to send a large lash of flame back at her. Regina let an angry, shrill sound as she defended against it, thrusting her staff's top towards it and extinguishing it with a single word. With the same fluid motion she hit it's end on the floor again, making a magic circle trace itself out of light and pointing her other hand to Tess, recited an incantation.

"_She's trying to bind my powers—oh no__, you don't!"_ Tess thought, frowning.

She held both her arms out, shouting an incantation herself; a similar magic circle, traced by fire, suspended in midair in front of her. There was a sense of two invisible forces colliding and negating each other with a dull roar and an impact that made the chamber shake again, making dust and bits of rock fall from above. The torches lining the room flickered, but did not go out.

They both paused for a moment, measuring each other up like dogs ready to fight. Then more circles appeared under Regina and Tess knew she was casting binds and curses on her. She used fire to trace different circles around her, to protect herself from the curses and recited incantations in abrupt, sharp tones, countering Regina's spells. That went on for a while; neither relented, locked as they were in the combat of spells. Circles were traced and breached in succession, fading from the ground as others appeared. Forces collided and negated one another, Regina bawling furiously as she found her powers evenly matched by Tess'. The chamber had shaken several more times, statues rocking in their bases and toppling over to lean against walls or crumble on the floor. Even the heavy lids of some sarcophagi rattled.

Both Tess and Regina were on the move, constantly moving in semi circles, opposite to each other in harmony, moving their arms and reciting incantations. To an ignorant viewer, they might as well have been engaged in a strange dance of symmetry.

Eventually Regina realized that this 'trench fight' of theirs would lead to nothing and made another of her hidden weapons apparent. Tess saw her glaring and without hearing her speak, she suddenly felt like a hammer or something had hit her in the stomach. She gasped and was hurled backwards, onto one of the sarcophagi. She let a groan as her back hit the stone with a lot of force and knocking her on the floor.

"_Damn her, that's telekinesis of some kind! How did she do that!?" _Tess thought, picking herself up in time to cast another protecting circle, to stop a sneaky sealing spell.

Regina now looked hell-bent on thrashing her to death against walls and sarcophagi. Tess was thrown on the floor violently before she could react and then slammed, face first, onto a statue between two recesses. The statue toppled over and felt to the floor, breaking. Tess pulled herself up swiftly and teleported behind Regina, breaking the latter's line of sight to stop her from being able to pinpoint her. She kept teleporting around the room as fast as she could, despite her bleeding nose and lip from the impact on the statue and the pain from being thrown around.

It was her turn to retaliate and she started using blasts of fire liberally, causing flames to erupt around Regina. She aimed some of them on Regina herself, but the High Priestess shielded herself from them with protective circles. But as Tess increased the intensity of her flame assaults, teleporting around as fast as she could manage, Regina began to lag behind. She staggered as one of the blasts hit hard on her side, her protective circle unable to stop it completely.

Tess jumped in the chance, stopping her teleporting to pummel Regina with continuous assaults of fire. She caused blasts to erupt from under and around her and hurled lashes of flame onto her, driving her slowly back towards a wall. Tess was sweating from the intensity of the fight, her head throbbed and she could feel blood still running from her nose, lips and from a cut over her eyebrow that stung.

She caught a break when her last blast of flame succeeded in jolting Regina solidly, knocking her staff out of her hands. Tess dove at the chance and closed in while the High Priestess was still stunned, attacking Regina with a furious, spinning kick to the abdomen. Experience had taught her that, while witchcraft was potent, when you wanted to really hurt a wiccan, it was better to do it with your own bare hands. The kick stunned Regina further, who had not been expecting it and then she was jolted backwards again from another kick, a high one to the chin this time. Tess didn't let her recover, but she jerked her arm in a lariat-swing, catching Regina's neck in the pit of her elbow and with a forceful shove, knocked her to the ground.

Tess was hesitant about killing her, hoping to just knock her out, but Regina foiled her plans again. She let a scream and Tess got flung off her feet again, thrown onto another wall. Regina jumped back to her feet like a wild animal, her hair now loose and her robes scorched, with a furious frown. She looked quite maddened and before Tess could get up from the last impact or teleport, she was flung again, across the chamber and towards a sarcophagus. As she threw Tess around, Regina generated a large charge of energy that she then hurled after Tess, with a snarl of fury.

Overwhelmed, Tess was nearly caught in the attack and obliterated by the blast, but she had the sense to react quickly with a seal spell that cushioned the blast and allowed her to teleport with superficial damage, a sense of pain all over her. She wound up teleporting around again, while Regina furiously fired white blasts at her—which Tess knew were not wiccan in origin. Regina's abilities and her madness and obsession with the Tome were eerie and Tess came to a single, terrifying conclusion: Regina's interest in the Tome wasn't just about the duty to protect it.

She was certain by now that Regina had actually been using the Tome of Rites for some time now and learned these things from it, something which was strictly forbidden for the witches of her order. The Tome of Rites was a book with contents that were deemed too dangerous to be in the hands of mankind and were sealed away in this chamber, the deepest place of the coven. And Regina had breached that seal. Tess felt a bit of righteous anger welling up in her.

"Hypocrite!" she shouted, starting to attack Regina again with flames. "You hypocrite! You call me a traitor and yet you've been using the Tome for your own selfish means! You're the traitor before me, Regina!"

The fight now had escalated into Regina firing more blasts at her and just occasionally trying to subdue her or slow her down with witchcraft, while Tess countered with blasts and tongues of fire, pushing Regina back and beginning to win the battle of wills against the more senior witch. She gritted her teeth and pushed herself, fighting against Regina's blasts and teleporting to dodge the telekinesis. Her head throbbed and she felt dizzy but she still pummeled Regina with powerful blasts of fire, going almost into the white-hot range.

"You would have done the same!" Regina retorted furiously. "You would have done the same if you had this kind of power at your fingertips, arrogant girl!"

Unable to contain herself, Tess dodged another of Regina's blasts and closed in, catching Regina off guard and ramming her knee into Regina's gut. She sent the High Priestess stumbling backwards and in her rage, she finally set her robes—and then her on fire.

It was a horrible sight that would haunt Tess for a long time afterwards.

Regina was on fire like a wick. She spread her arms out, screaming like a wounded animal and flailing with her robes on fire. Tess was startled and drew back, horrified at what she had done, but powerless to help. Vergil had ordered her to kill if she had to and she realized she had done exactly that. Even without her realizing, her fire was obeying that order and practically devouring the High Priestess. She watched Regina thrash, stumbling about and screaming while flames consumed her. Regina had no mind to use witchcraft to save herself; the flames had already began eating away at her body. The foul smell of burning flesh filled the chamber and Tess let a startled gasp as Regina seemed to hurl towards her.

She backed up against a wall in her panic, as Regina finally fell to the floor, barely squirming and letting choked, throaty sounds instead of screams. Tess couldn't take her eyes off Regina, eyes wide in horror at what she had done. The full brunt of her act had just hit her and it was horrifying. Although she had caused other wiccans to die before, on Vergil's demands, this was the first time that she _burned someone alive_ and it was so terrible that she was shaken to the bone. She ignored the suddenly tightening choker around her neck that reminded her to take the book and return to Vergil. As painful as it was, she couldn't move from her spot for shock.

"_What have I done?"_

_

* * *

_

_Author's Note 2: No, I do not think I'm torturing Tess too much; I can do far, far worse if I feel like it. *smirks* ...Seriously, this is plot-driven. Give me a break.  
_


	8. Chapter 7 The Precipice

**Author's note: **I am terribly sorry for the monstrous delay in posting. I am having a very bad case of writer's block right in the middle of chapter 11 that hasn't let up for nearly a month. I can't seem to write a single sentence without hating it. I apologize for letting you people hanging. I promise I will get myself out of it as soon as I can. Thank you for bearing with me.

* * *

**Chapter VII**

**The Precipice**

Vergil mused the view outside the window of the fortified castle; night was replacing the dull light of evening. In the distance, he watched swathes of dark clouds gathering, with occasional flashes coming from within them, illuminating their forms. It told him that a storm was developing, approaching the city, while his plans were underway. Several hours had passed since he sent Tess to retrieve the Tome of Rites. And somewhere out in that city, Dante was probably already well into the plan laid out by him and Sasha.

He looked to his side as the witch in question glided in the room he had chosen to isolate himself in, the same study that Tess had left him in a few hours ago.

"What is it, Sasha?" he asked dryly. He thought she came to tell him that Tess had returned with the Tome at last.

But she had a severe look about her, silently approaching with her arms clasped under the trailing, ragged sleeves. "We have some unexpected developments," she hissed, an angry tone in her voice.

He faced her, frowning. "What do you mean, 'unexpected'?" he said sharply. "You brag about the power to predict the future—"

"Which is always prone to change," she interrupted him, just as sharply, changing it back to mellower afterwards. "Events transpire and change all that I have predicted. I remind you that my powers have their limits at this point in time, Vergil."

"What has happened?" he asked impatiently.

"Worry not; Tess has succeeded in acquiring the book and getting rid of the High Priestess for us. However," she said, eyeing his expression; a small twitch of the lips showed her that he was pleased to hear that. "I'm afraid a certain…player has been cheating in our little game. But nevermind him; your brother's interference will run deeper than I first perceived. Tess will not be able to bring the book to you. I'm afraid you will have to go retrieve it from her."

She paused for a moment, choosing her words wisely. "With his implication, this will become a very delicate situation. Should the Tome fall into his hands we will have a severe problem."

Vergil's expression hardened subtly into something resembling suppressed rage. But he maintained his cool expression. "I see. I will have to confront him a little sooner than I expected…"

"Don't tarry. The ritual must be conducted as soon as possible. And do not bother with the interference—Tess will handle it, no matter her state. She will return to you in time for the ritual and by the time she does, she will no longer resist," Sasha said quietly.

That last comment intrigued him; his enslaved witch was marked for her will and her quiet defiance of him, even though she served him. Sasha claimed the ritual would fail unless her spirit was broken and her will submitted. "What makes you say that? You said it yourself, she is stubborn."

"She will submit, when she loses hope. Her time draws short and when she sees that there is nothing left for her, she will submit to her fate," Sasha said sternly. "She is human, she clings to hope. Once she loses that, it is over."

Vergil picked a hint in her words and smirked. "So my brother will contribute to her downfall. How ironic," he scoffed.

He started for the door, walking past her. "Make sure you're ready for the ritual when I return. The moment she returns, we start," he said sternly. "And for your own good, there better not be any more 'unexpected developments'."

As he left the room, Sasha remained there, staring out the window. "Don't worry Semyazas…" she said with an eerie cooing tone to the giant viper that slithered beside her. "Everything is falling into place, exactly as I predicted. One by one, every hindrance is removed, like a problem resolving itself; players enter and leave the game, actors bowing out of the stage," she sighed, caressing the snake's head as it reared up to her hand.

"Vergil is none of my concern. I have no interest in him once the ritual is complete. I will summon my dark lord and claim what is rightfully mine," she muttered, her eyes narrowing to hard, icy slits. "Then I will drown my sister's legacy in blood at last."

Vergil never heard any of this; he had already left the manor with Yamato in hand. Though well aware that his power was still not what it was, he felt almost a delight in leaving the confines of his sanctuary after so long. He nearly admitted that he looked forward to meeting face to face with Dante and he knew how inevitable that was. The sky overhead was growing darker with clouds and though he fought against it, it reminded him of that night, years ago, atop Temen-Ni-Gru.

He didn't want to recall it. He pushed the memory away and instead allowed his thoughts to wander to something more recent, which had led to the current situation.

* * *

Sometime after he had recovered Yamato and he felt his strength returning again, Sasha urged him to fulfill another step of their plan: Enslaving Tess.

"It is essential for the success of the ritual," she had explained without missing a beat. "Mundus' power cannot be matched easily and both your bind to him and my curse will resist the use of demonic powers to undo them. We must resort to a more pure force, one with no attachments to neither the world of demons, nor that of humans."

Vergil, who had little interest in witchcraft, listened with a mild sense of boredom. "Then what do you suggest? Is there power in witchcraft enough to match it? Don't be absurd. If wiccans had been able to match the power of demons, they would have done so centuries ago."

"Mere wiccans do not. Very few can achieve the level of power able to compare," she countered. "And very few rituals can summon such powers. I know of one such ritual, but acquiring the ability to perform it will not be simple."

"If you know it, why haven't you performed it?" he asked with a hint of a snide tone.

She gazed at him a little darkly, as if his observation had annoyed her. "This ritual is not a simple incantation," she said dryly. "It is in fact a rite forbidden by the lore of the craft. No witch would ever dream of performing it freely. It is so secret that most ignore its very existence and so well-guarded that even my powers cannot divine its exact nature. I only know where it is contained and where it is kept. I cannot conduct it myself either, my powers are not pure enough for this ritual. They will be rejected and the ritual will fail."

Vergil scoffed. So far everything she said sounded like a dead end, even to him. "Then how do you suggest of making use of it, if you can't do it?"

Now Sasha smiled under her tattered hood, with a cryptic and sinister smile. "How familiar are you with the Witch Seal?" she asked with a sly tone.

Vergil eyed her with caution from his seat. "Enlighten me," he responded dryly, looking at her through the corner of his eye.

She chuckled a little and walked past his armchair, her hand sliding along its back idly. "It is an inconvenient little secret about wiccans' powers. They can be bound and conquered. An inconvenient secret of the demons used to overpower witches, which then became a habit of humans."

She turned and faced him again. "It will put a witch under the complete control of whoever binds them with it. Their consciousness remains unaltered, but they are obliged to obey. One would say that over time it becomes an insatiable need to please their master…"

Vergil listened in silence as she paced across the room. He was interested.

"Its simplicity is ludicrous; pure silk thread, blessed in your blood…then woven into a leash. Catch her by surprise, bind her neck…and tighten the noose," she said with a grim smile, in an eerie, sweet tone. "The witch becomes your slave. From then on, she will do as you order her, unable to resist. Imagine: The power to hold one's life and actions in the grasp of your hand. It is the solution to our little problem."

He raised an eyebrow, then smirked. "And this is why you needed me, witch," he said. "You cannot perform this bind yourself and I can. How convenient," he said snidely.

Her smile remained. "It is a convenient alliance, I will not hide. This is all you will be required to do and the benefits will be your release from Mundus and the recovery of your power. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Vergil stared at her with cold eyes, considering his options. He knew Sasha could, at any time, turn out to be a second Arkham. But he knew enough of her to be certain that her powers were indeed limited and he could do away with her any time he pleased. She was frail and required to return to the Underworld often to rejuvenate her powers. And so far she had given no signs of having a secondary agenda. Vergil had been watching her closely—as closely as he knew she watched him.

"Very well," he said at last. "But is there even a witch capable of performing this ritual?"

"Indeed," she replied. "It is the witch I require for my plans."

Without much of a ceremony, Sasha waved her hand upwards gently, producing a length of silk thread that wrapped into a spool on its own, so finely woven that it was almost like a shiny wire. "Be warned though, do not take her lightly. She has quite the fiery temperament."

She delicately pulled the end of the thread from the spool, making the thread fly up and coil in a constant spiral as she muttered but two strange words lowly, balancing the hovering line of thread between her hands. Vergil watched her skilled motions without a comment; witchcraft rarely impressed him.

She finally held her hand out, and with a single, strange word that sounded like a hiss, a small vortex opened like a mouth from the floor and a dagger with a black blade shot up, hilt first, allowing her to catch it without even blinking. Holding the cold, obsidian blade she held it out to him.

"Cut yourself; your blood is needed for the bind. Do not wear yourself down more than is necessary," she explained.

Standing up, he took the knife and without even flinching, he closed his fist around the sharp blade, then quickly drew it through his hand, cutting a deep gash into his palm, holding it up for her to use, as blood began to pour from the wound.

Sasha smiled viciously for an instant at the sight of the violent act, only to hold up her hand under the running blood, which flowed into her hand and seemed to gather into an invisible cup, which only the blood's flow and shape revealed. The blood filled it to a mug's size and she pulled her hand away as the wound started to close, the air around her hand solidifying into a black chalice holding the blood.

"Pay heed, Vergil," she warned. "This bind will be potent. She will resist. Too much pressure might kill her prematurely and the punishment for her disobedience will be painful. Use it at your leisure," she almost purred. "But prudently."

She allowed the thread to slowly slide into the blood like a little serpent, whispering violent incantations all the while. The chalice trembled slightly as the blood looked like it bubbled up briefly, until the chalice finally cracked. The blood it held began to drain and the cup crumbled to pieces, leaving the thread coiled in her hand. It now had an ominous, glistening red sheen, like wire.

Vergil stared at it, wondering how that fragile-looking piece of thread was going to bind a witch. Sasha seemed to read his thoughts and smiled.

"You doubt your power? Your blood carries your power. She will submit to it easily," she said, offering him the thread.

"It better be as you said. I won't tolerate failure," he replied, taking it. "What witch is this, whom you have chosen?"

She smiled a little evilly. "You might take interest in her. She was familiar with your brother for a time. One might say that she was even precious to him for a time."

Vergil smirked in a cold manner. "Really now," he said.

He saw it as something to be exploited. He knew of his brother's ridiculous attachments to the human world and certain humans. He still felt quite bitter about Dante causing his downfall twice, especially into the Pits of Despair. Perhaps manipulating this witch would have certain _personal_ benefits.

He had set out the same night, Sasha telling him exactly where to find her. He found himself in a lonely crossroads of the city, not far from a coven sanctuary. The badly-lit street was littered with faded posters on walls, broken lamp-posts and some weathered signs of abandoned stores. It was very quiet and Vergil could certainly see why Sasha had suggested it as an ambush spot.

She had also warned him to conceal his presence, a precaution against the witch's keen senses. He waited in the darkness, stirring briefly only as he sensed the approach of two wiccans; he had spent enough time around Sasha to know how sense a witch's presence. He heard the footsteps of the two, one pacing along determinedly, while the other followed hesitantly. He heard them talk before they even came within his line of sight.

"Celia, wait! You can't do that, the High Priestess will be furious if you trespass her orders!" he heard the younger one say.

And then the other one, a more mature-sounding, determined tone snapped back. "I don't care. She may be the High Priestess but she doesn't control me. I won't be involved in this stupid power-fight. I don't care who takes Renard's place, now that he's dead."

He saw her storm down the street across him with a frustrated gait: An average-built woman in dark-colored clothes but vivid red hair and sharp, hawk-like green eyes; exactly as Sasha had described her. She had an angry frown on her face.

The second witch, a brunette, younger girl, followed her with an anxious look. "But Celia—"

"Enough Rosario!" the red-hair snapped back, stopping and facing her. "I'm not going to become a puppet. I said don't care about hierarchy. I have enough worries that my familiar has been missing for four years—and I know that the coven has something to do with that. Why should I bother with them? To hell with everyone!" she said sharply.

Vergil kept himself concealed in the shadows of a doorway, knowing that if Sasha was right, Tess—or in this case, Celia, would notice his presence sooner or later. He could sense a distinct difference between her and the other witch, a sense of different powers—and a different disposition. But he still had doubts as to whether she could be useful to their ends.

"_Yes, I can see why Dante would be fond of her,"_ he thought, watching her energy and defiance. _"But she looks frail and weak."_

"But you can't—" ventured Rosario, but Celia interrupted her abruptly.

"I said, enough. Rosa, go home. I don't care if the coven kicks me out. After nine years of putting up with them it might be for the best. I'm not going to allow my second sight to be used for someone else's purposes and that's final," she said sharply. "Now _go home!_"

The other witch stared at her, surprised and Vergil looked on with interest. It was as if Celia was sending the other witch away on purpose, as if she had sensed something and was trying to protect her. Surely enough, she then turned around, her skirt fluttering in the soft breeze and surveyed the area with eyes cold as steel, until they stopped right where Vergil stood.

"Well then," she said calmly. "You can stop being sneaky now. I know you're there."

Vergil had to admit he was impressed that she had found him. She was probably aware of him for some time now. He allowed himself to be seen as he stepped into the dim light of the street, staring at her right in the eye, returning the cold gaze.

"I see, you don't just see auras, you can sense them as well. Interesting," he commented.

She got a good look at him and immediately looked like she lost her cool, taking a step back hesitantly. He could read it on her expression that she recognized his features.

"Dante…?" she uttered, hesitantly, eyes widening and mouth drooping open a little, but then stiffened and clenched her fists. "No, you're different. You're his brother, aren't you?" she said, sounding composed.

"So you've heard of me," he said dryly, approaching her steadily. He came within meters of her and observed her lack of any sign of being afraid of him, though she kept watching him closely, scrutinizing him. He held Yamato in his hand arrogantly, not willing to conceal his power any more.

She retreated from him slowly, wary. "In passing. Dante didn't talk about you. Last I heard, you were presumed dead."

She met his gaze calmly, her eyes never wandering from him once, wisely. "What do you want from me?" she said, clenching her fists a little nervously, a faint luminescence of fire seen floating through her fingertips.

Vergil just scoffed at her cautiousness. "Fear not, little girl, my only concern now stands in front of me," he said, maintaining eye-contact with her and disregarding the hint of fire in her hands as he advanced closer. "And you need only concern yourself with me."

She gave a harsh frown. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she said abruptly and with a sudden move flicked her arm ahead, sending a huge lash of flame hurling forth, scorching the ground it passed over and headed straight at him.

Using the size of the flame as cover, she began a quick retreat, as if she knew that dealing with him was beyond her powers.

"Hmph."

Vergil didn't flinch at the wall of fire barreling at him, though he made a mental note that her ability to manipulate flame was indeed quite unique. He flicked his thumb against the handguard of Yamato, forcing it out of its scabbard, grabbed it swiftly with his other hand and rotating it at inhuman speed, created a barrier of wind that extinguished and pushed back the flames. He broke through the receding flames and lunged after her. He deemed it necessary to incapacitate her and gripped the scabbard tighter to use it against her, instead of the blade.

Ironically, she proved to be a harder quarry to catch than he initially thought. She knew he was coming and got out of his way with a dash, rotating and leaning her body as she dodged the swing to her legs that attempted to trip her, turning and skidding along the ground, nearly crouching while she sent more fire at him in the form of quicker, more condensed bolts.

Vergil's eyes didn't wander from her for even an instant and he slashed at one bolt, deflected another with the scabbard and the motion of his body and crouched, allowing only the tail of his trenchcoat to be singed by the remaining bolts of fire. He lunged at her the moment she retreated again. This time he wasn't going to let her get out of his reach, he used a flick of the scabbard to knock down her arm, raising for another sweep of fire and with a second hit of its tip to her chest, knocked her down.

She gasped, falling on her side, breathless from the blow to the chest. He smirked at her persistence, even though he could read it in her eyes that she knew she had no chance of escape. He stopped her from pulling herself up, pointing the tip of Yamato at her neck, nearly pricking her skin and making her freeze.

"Get up," he said sharply. "You're no match for me and you know it."

She stared at him and keeping her arms to her sides, stood up slowly, always staring at him with a gaze as cold as his, with a small glint of anger flaring up in the green depths.

He restrained a smirk at the sight of her resolve. "Stay still. Move, in any way and die, wiccan," he said, slowly moving to her side and around her, sword always at her neck.

"If you're going to kill me, you'll do so with me watching. I'm not going to be stabbed in the back," she hissed, not quite ready to obey as her gaze followed him steadily.

He scoffed. "Don't worry, I have a better use for you than that, Tess."

At the mention of her name, she tensed. He stopped behind her and he saw it in her stature that she felt a weight of oppression down on her, knew she made a fatal mistake. Quietly he sheathed Yamato and reached inside his coat for the thread that Sasha had enchanted. Then swiftly, he swung it around her neck, watching the thread react to the motion, and coiling around her neck like a snake. She jolted, tensing at the noose-like sensation tightening around her neck. She started to struggle and buck, her hands reaching for her neck to pry the thread off, as it merged and melded together into a strip of cloth that squeezed onto her skin, cutting through it and grafting itself onto her neck.

She let an angry shout, knowing what he had put on her and trying to break out of his grip, choking all the while.

"_Interesting reaction,"_ he thought. _"Others would have submitted to their fate without resistance."_

He let go of her, allowing her to crumble to her knees, panting and gasping for air as the choker squeezed around her neck. A thin and frail line of red iridescent energy connected the choker to his hand, like a leash. It disappeared slowly, but Vergil still sensed the connection and the power he had over her.

"You're under my control now. Serve me well and you might live," he said dryly, watching her struggle, holding her neck, unable to get any leverage on the choker around her neck. She looked up at him with furious eyes and a contorted look.

"No!" she hissed. "I serve…nobody!" she said, then groaned as the choker around her neck strangled her with a vicegrip force, making her sink lower, gasping.

Vergil immediately grabbed a hold of her wrist, yanking her up to her feet violently and glared her in the eye. "You have _no choice_."

And like that, it was over. She was forced to obey his every command. Her tenacity and spirit were bent into shape—anything that pleased him. He took advantage of it fully; her coven, sheltering the Tome, was weak, almost breaking apart from within. She made its present, inevitable downfall come sooner. All it took were a few carefully-planned murders that she committed and a few false accusations that she planted. At his command she spread discord among them, to culminate in this state of disarray, crowned by the death of High Priestess Regina.

Though he did not admit it, he found that manipulating her was a strangely liberating feeling. Having been a puppet for many years himself, he now understood what it was to pull the strings. Though unconcerned with any dregs of human vanity in himself, he allowed himself the arrogance of crushing another, just like he had been crushed.

But there had been something that bothered him, a question that had to do with Sasha. From the day he put the bind on Tess she never showed herself around when the girl was present and instructed him to keep her presence from Tess. Always suspicious of her, he confronted the devil-witch.

"Is there some reason you won't face her?" he had asked, that day not long ago, when she presented him the idea of using her as a lure for his brother.

She had been pacing about and looked at him over her shoulder slowly, from under her hood. "Because then things will change. For now I can conceal my presence from her. If she doesn't know, she can defend against me when the time is right. I have no power over her as long as my sister's curse is upon me," she said in her bitter, hoarse voice.

"You wish her dead?" he asked nonchalantly.

Sasha cackled, in an unnerving manner. "Her death is of use to me. It's no secret I crave her second sight, but it is her death I will savor," she added with a sinister glee. "For it will be my revenge at last."

Vergil scoffed. "How dull. Is fortune-telling that precious to you?"

Sasha laughed, with a cruel and bitter scoff. "Knowledge, dear Vergil, is power; you ought to know that. We crave a different kind of power."

"And is vengeance on your sister part of your craving?" he asked pointedly.

He noticed her expression change; she looked away but her voice suppressed only part of her rage. "Though my sister is dead, the feud is not over. Until I wipe out her bloodline, I will not be satisfied."

"Yet you postpone it to steal her power," he sighed, scoffing her.

"She is the first witch of the bloodline, since my sister and me, to have the gift of Deep Sight. She is not limited as I am—it is only her own reluctance that hinders her. To steal it and make it mine would be the perfect revenge. That is all there is to it. I have no grand delusions, no desire to interfere with you. I will have no gain."

She had refused to divulge any more of the matter to him and he didn't persist, since he didn't care.

He cleared his mind of any thoughts as he ventured into the city, ignoring the storm bulging over-head.

* * *

Having no luck in finding Tess where Ricardo had indicated, Dante was still in the city, killing some time by eradicating demons that had shown up in his way, as he was going around the city district. It was another mere mob of sand-based demons, making him wonder how much of the city really lay untouched and whether the people, besides the wiccans, had any idea. The demons stood no chance against him and normally he wouldn't bother to take them out but he had nothing better to do and needed to vent his frustration. The empty street was filled with the sounds of gunfire, sword-strikes and missed scythe swings.

He cut down another Hell Pride, lazily avoiding their scythes. _"This is ridiculous…why am I even bothering?"_ he thought with a sigh.

Since he'd last seen Trish, he hadn't seen many people, apart from some wiccans who, while fleeing from or dealing with demons, completely ignored him and went as far as to flee from him. He never bothered to corner one and ask about Tess; it was quite clear by now that it would be pointless.

And then there was the missing amulet. Its theft bothered him; so far he'd always been able to reclaim what was taken from him, one way or another. But this time, something felt off. He couldn't explain it or pin it down in words but it felt as though he had a rough idea of who was behind this, which he couldn't quite digest yet. In the same way, he couldn't explain how Tess was involved in the matter. He knew the moment he was told of her involvement by Ricardo, that this was some kind of trap, and she was the lure that dragged him in. The only thing he was still hazy about was whether it was done by her own free will or not.

After all, ten years were a long time and people change.

He drew his guns and filled another demon's head with bullets. Just as he was about to take out the last one of them with his sword, a ball of fire came from the side and obliterated it with one go. Dante raised an eyebrow and turned around to the direction it'd come from.

He saw Tess standing several feet away from him with what looked like a cryptic smile, which widened when he fixed his gaze in her direction. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of her, frowning in annoyance. A part of him was relieved though; maybe her earlier behavior had indeed been an act and she was going to come clean to him now.

"_About frickin' time,"_ he thought. _"She's got some explanations to—"_

He'd started walking towards her, intending to question her when she suddenly turned around and started running away from him, glancing back at him with the same cryptic and taunting smile.

"Hey—Tess!" he blurted and started running after her. "What the hell's this all about!?"

She gave no reply, only ran ahead, turning into a smaller street, forcing him to run after her so he wouldn't lose sight of her. He slowed down at the end of it, trying to figure out where she went and then saw her at the edge of another street, inviting him to follow her with the wave of a hand. He couldn't understand why she gave no reply; her behavior was just beyond strange now. He couldn't catch up with her because she ran faster than he could normally and she knew these streets better than he did.

"_Are we headed towards that coven place again?"_ he thought as he followed her through the streets.

He had a strange feeling about this encounter, but he followed her, no matter where she was leading him to. He had to get to the bottom of things.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the cavern, Tess recovered enough from her shock to stand up. In the half-light of the remaining torches, she could see the charred and pitiful remains of the High Priestess, just a few feet away from her. They lay where she fell, twisted in a painful position. The fire had consumed most of her, leaving behind a grotesque, blackened form on a large patch of charred ground. Tess turned away from it, unable to bear it any more. The stench of charred flesh burned her nostrils while the choker was nearly strangling her again, urging her to follow through with Vergil's orders.

_Take the Tome and go_.

She staggered towards the pedestal where the book lay. She felt a lot colder than before, now that the heat of battle was gone, leaving behind the dreadful silence, even though adrenaline still pounded in her temples. She put out her hands to close the book, lying open on the pedestal, to pick it up, when she froze in place from a sudden feeling, like a stone dropped on her shoulders, weighing her down.

And then white noise and screams erupted in her ears while she shook as if she couldn't control her body.

"_Oh no, not again!"_

Her second sight treated her to a violent pang of pain in her head, making her shut her eyes and hunch her shoulders. When it lessened, she felt something that made her hair stand on end: Two frost-cold, bony hands had gripped her wrists firmly, holding her in place with her hands on the book, and she found herself staring at the dark eyes of a specter, whose face loomed just inches away from hers. It was a deathly pale face with slightly hollow cheekbones and oddly familiar eyes and appearance. Tresses of stringy, black hair hung over its sides, and its lips were pinched together to complete the delirious and furious frown on its face.

Tess' mouth sagged as she stared at the woman holding her there, who leaned over the pedestal to look at her closely. She was used to dreadful visions, but this was beyond creepy, mostly due to the fact that the woman was so familiar to her. She had strange dark tattoos like bruises on her face, marring the paleness. Her eyes were green, while her hair hung down to her waist, tattered and uncared for, just like the mantle she wore over the ancient dress, both in dull, washed colors of brown and white and black.

It had to be a dead person's shadow, she'd seen these many times, but very few had unnerved her to the point of making her feel threatened and speechless. The woman's hold persisted, chilling Tess' skin.

What was most unnerving was that Tess knew full well that it was the same woman from her previous vision, that showed her the way down here, but this time her hood was down.

"You claim this book," the haggard woman said suddenly, in a shrill, throaty voice, as though her throat had given out after a lot of screaming. "This curse of demons upon man, tempting wiccans with its secrets and its dirty little promises of power," she went on, sounding disgusted. "Take it then! And suffer the consequences when its fruit are ripe to be sown."

"I don't claim it for myself," Tess replied bravely.

The woman let a throaty, maddened little cackle, like a fairy tale's wicked witch. "I know," she said with a sardonic whisper. "You will still taste its poison, because that is the book's power. It will give you leave to control the world, but at the price of bringing the Underworld _in_ it."

The woman's hands suddenly let go of her and her look turned stern. "Have it then, detestable child! But remember that your fate is sealed. What evil comes out of this book will be _your_ doing!"

She then vanished into thin air, but not before giving Tess a hateful glare that chilled her to the marrow. She panted, mouth still gapping and head still throbbing from the experience, as if she'd ran a marathon.

"_Who was that…?"_ she wondered, looking at the faded pages of the book as if it were a monster.

She shut it abruptly and stared at the closed book in her hands. It wasn't very large, about six inches high and four inches across, thick as a paperback and leather-bound; aside from the obvious ancient age of it, showing on the blackened and soiled leather, the tears and scratches on it and moldy scent, it looked quite unspectacular to her.

"_But I know what that woman meant. Just holding it…I can _feel_ this damn book's power. Just looking at what it did to the coven… This book is a menace," _she thought.

She jerked her head to the door she'd come from. She could hear the sounds of hurrying footsteps and shouting of many people.

"_Shit."_

She grabbed the book and pulled it off the pedestal, trying to form a plan to escape as the sounds got closer.

"Now what do I do—" she muttered to herself.

"_Follow me." _

She tensed. That woman's voice again. She jerked her head behind her, just to the side of the pedestal. A statue had fallen off its original spot before a wall, revealing a sign etched on the rock.

Without realizing why, Tess flew at the stone slab and pressed her hand on it. A heavy, creaking sound echoed from behind it and it suddenly slid sideways, revealing a narrow passage of stairs leading up.

"_Well fuck me, a secret passage. __Cliché but I guess whoever built this place knew how to look into the future. This must be how Regina got here ahead of me,"_ she thought, going through it.

Holding the book against her chest like a precious treasure, Tess charged up the narrow stairs as fast as she could without losing her balance. There were no lights in the passage, but she could see a dim light at the other end, perhaps a way out, and she hurried towards it, while the sounds from the hall behind her intensified. She knew then that the wiccans had found Regina's body and had a fair idea of what had happened.

Dante was getting increasingly irritated. He called to her, tried to keep up, but one way or another Tess kept one step ahead of him. She would turn suddenly into streets and he'd lose her for a moment, just to see her up ahead. She would taunt him a little, laughing and calling his name, urging him to follow. It almost felt like she was trying to keep her distance from him, while at the same time leading him somewhere. All he knew was that they were headed back towards the coven.

"You could at least tell me what this is all about!" he barked, getting disgruntled.

"Just come on!" she replied vaguely and disappeared into the courtyard to the manor, going through the gates.

Dante followed her in and stopped in the middle. She was absolutely gone and he couldn't even see any clue as to where she went.

"Tess?" he blurted, a little confused, looking around him.

Demons had gone through here and had been fought. Bodies and blood littered parts of the courtyard and bits of demons lay scattered among them too. Looking up he saw plenty of broken and shattered glass panels on the old building. One of the two main entrance doors was dented inward, almost broken off its hinges.

"_What the hell happened here? And where'd she go?"_he thought.

He hardly finished that thought when a blast of fire caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. It was small but all too familiar. An iron-bar door, covering an ancient passage of some kind blew out and hit the ground heavily. And then Tess, looking winded and frightened, burst out of it, nearly colliding into him as she ran. She stopped with a gasp and stared at him like she'd seen a ghost.

"Tess!" he said, sounding more angry than surprised. "What the hell are you doing!?"


	9. Chapter 8 Agent of Chaos

**Author's Note:** Oh Good Good, I am so sorry for the extremely late update. College this semester was infuriatingly evil to me and I'm still recovering. I am working as best I can on the fic, recovering my lost writing mojo. New chapters will be up as soon as I finish them.

On another note, this chapter is...controversial. You have been warned, this chapter is strange, in many ways and for some it might be even horrifying. If it feels strangely out of character, it's meant to be.

**Chapter VIII**

**Agent of Chaos**

With the coven's guards now nearly at her heels, Tess had been running up the stairs of the narrow, suffocating passage with her heart in her throat and that accursed little book held against her chest. She had to use her arm to keep her balance against the closing walls as the smooth stone steps often got treacherous under her feet. Panting from the effort and the stress, she bolted up towards the light at the top. She didn't want to get caught because that meant more fighting and more killing. And she'd had enough of that.

And then there was Vergil's order; the choker squeezed around her neck, slowly and steadily, urging her in some way she never understood, to do as told. She had to get out and get the book to him, a compulsive need that she was aware of and disgusted by.

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she still had a good lead ahead of the wiccans pursuing her. Ahead of her, as she reached the end, she saw on the narrow exit the outline of iron bars, a portcullis blocking her way out. She sent forth a blast of fire, blowing it off its hinges and sent it flying onto the ground.

She dove outside like a chased fox, with the intent of running straight to the gate of the wall surrounding the manor, just to stop abruptly when she came face to face with Dante. She nearly ran into him but with a sudden swerve she backed off and stumbled to the side, slowing down from surprise. She stared, eyes wide, and had no idea how he'd found his way there or why, and whether he had been expecting to find her. Still panting from running up that passage, she was too winded to speak.

He spoke before her. "Tess!" he said, sounding irritated, but concealing a lot more of it, "What the hell are you doing?"

She couldn't reply from the shock of seeing him and just back-stepped hesitantly, as if she wanted to leave, panting. The choker was urging her to leave with pangs of pain, as if it were eating at her neck, but something in her forced her to stay.

Dante frowned, too frustrated even for his usually cool head to contain. He'd been chasing her in a cat and mouse fashion all this time, her running ahead in an inexplicable manner, almost like a cruel teasing. Now he felt he would get some answers. Seeing her winded, despite her odd exit, he didn't suspect any foul play.

Before he could ask any questions though, he raised an eyebrow at a small crowd of about fifteen people, wiccans probably, rushed out of the same vault she'd come through. They were both men and women, some of them armed with either rifles, shotguns or some kind of antique-looking pike or odd sword. Their determined gait came to an abrupt stop, just a few feet away from them, as if they were stunned by his presence.

That didn't look well, to Dante and he turned to her, asking sharply: "What's going on? What did you do?"

Tess was startled at the arrival of the wiccans and had been hesitantly backing away from them, looking ready to bolt. She snapped her head towards him when he spoke to her.

"What?!" she blurted in a confused manner, as she felt her head spin with the sense of dread of a trapped person.

One of the wiccans, that dark-haired woman Dante had seen with the High Priestess when he first went looking for Tess, pushed through the crowd to come up front. She had blood drying on the side of her head and multiple other bruises and scrapes, a good indication that she'd been through a rough battle of some kind. She looked furious.

"You should leave, son of Sparda!" she said sharply in a heavily-accented tone. "This does not concern you!"

Since Dante had turned and was facing them and Tess had stumbled back and out of his direct sight, he didn't see her jump and her face turn startled when she saw the woman.

"_Vanessa?! What the hell…she…she wasn't down there with Regina!" _she thought, startled._ "I didn't see her anywhere in the catacomb and she certainly wasn't among those chasing me! Vanessa would've stopped me dead with a seal! Where the hell did she come from?"_

And yet she was there and was now piling more rage in her words as she fired accusations. "She's a murderess and must be punished by our laws!" she said, glaring at Dante and then Tess. "This is none of your business. If you become involved then you'll just be aiding the very demons you fight!" she told Dante, pointing at Tess accusingly.

Vanessa's words made Tess panic and as the choker was strangling her again, she got desperate. She couldn't get past Dante, who now had turned and was looking at her with a questioning look. _"Out of the frying pan and into the fire!"_ she thought miserably.

"What is she talking about?" he demanded, about to stand between her and the open gate, just a dash away.

"Get out of my way," she told Dante suddenly, almost forced by the choker to do so. The order to take the book to Vergil was overriding her indecisiveness.

"Oh no, this time you're givin' me some answers, Twig," he snapped. "What're they talking about, what did you do?"

"She's a traitor!" Vanessa shouted again as the crowd behind her seemed to quietly surge with anger. "She's the pawn of demons and murdered the High Priestess! She stole the Tome of Rites—on order of her demon masters, no doubt!"

He eyed Tess carefully. "Did you?" he asked dryly.

Now Tess was shaking and holding the Tome against her chest like a scared little girl. _"You will taste its poison, because that is the book's power,"_ that's what the specter of the woman had told her and Tess was starting to feel the full brunt of that warning. She looked away from Dante, to the wiccans who, although quiet, bore their own vengeful intents on their faces. She knew the only thing holding them back was cowardice; they were too afraid of Dante to do anything.

The choker squeezed her neck again and she panicked and never answered Dante's question; Vanessa answered instead.

"She did! She brought this disaster on us! The city is swarming with demons because of her!" the woman said, behind gritting teeth.

That fury only added more to Tess' panic. She bolted, scrambling past Dante, and to her relief he didn't stop her even as her pursuers watched. He let her slip past him, only to follow her instead, one step ahead of the mob. As she passed under the gate leading to the streets, he took a hand to his sword, swung it off his back and struck one of the pillars forming the gate's threshold. The massive, solid stone broke and collapsed in his wake, blocking the wiccans off with a pile of rubble and settling dust. The sheer sight of that and the warning it contained was, as he hoped, enough to remind them to stay there.

"Here we go again…" he grumbled as she ran ahead, as if the hounds of Hell were after her.

But this time he was angry and sick of this chasing game and noted that she was slowing down, too tired to run as fast as before. Using a burst of demonic speed he caught up with her and grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop.

"That's enough!" he snarled, without meaning to.

Being yanked back like that caused her to gasp and then stare at him with hostility unusual for her, without meaning to. She knew then and there it was that damned choker causing her to react against her will. The order was to take the book back to Vergil, regardless of interferences.

"What's going on, Tess? Care to explain what the hell's wrong with you!?" he asked holding her arm tightly as she kept the book over her chest with the other. "Are you playing some goddamn game!?"

She stared back, panting and unable to get away. "Wha—look," she said suddenly, surprised by his question. "I'll explain everything, eventually, even the 'Celia' thing but now—"

"That's not what I'm talking about!" he interrupted her, nearly shouting in her face, at the end of his patience by now. "You make me follow you here—and now you're running off again! Enough of that! I want some answers. Is it true? You're in it with demons now? Since when do you work for someone else, and why didn't you acknowledge me?! Why 'Celia'—why here?! Why—dammit, how the hell did you change so much!?" he finally snapped, having blurted all those questions out at once, as if they were bubbling out of him, he was that annoyed.

She swallowed hard. Now that she no longer could avoid him or hide the truth from him she was stuck. She cursed, quietly, in her head, looking to the side briefly. Of course he would know by now, even if Vanessa hadn't accused her so openly; Dante wasn't an idiot, no matter how much sometimes he let others believe so. He understood and knew more than he let on.

And that meant that she had to lie, because one of Vergil's very first orders to her was: _"You will never divulge your situation to anyone, under any circumstance, even if you life depends on it."_

She couldn't tell him anything, probably not even hint. What was worse, Dante's claim that she had changed brought up something she had been bottling up for many years and she was notoriously bad at keeping her temper when she bottled things up.

"Because they _made_ me change!" she snapped back, while wrestling her arm out of his grip.

He barely held back a sarcastic scoff. "Made you—what bull, that doesn't sound like the Tess I know. No one could make you do anything you didn't want to do, Twig. Just how much have you changed? What the hell made you this way?"

He let go of her, frowned slightly and just stood there with his arms at his side, expecting an answer.

Irritated at her own guilt and the pain around her neck, like a constant noose tightening around her neck, she just wanted to get this order of Vergil's over with and escape the annoying question of just how much Dante knew.

"They're nothing but a bunch of hypocrites who can't understand when it's time to stop living in the past. They pretend they're righteous when they're just as corrupt as the demons they claim they fight," she stubbornly hissed. "Righteous--my ass they are!"

Her hostility didn't help matters for him. "What the hell are you going on about?!" he snapped. "Who's 'they'!? And since when has someone's temper become a legitimate excuse for murder?" The look in his eye became filled with disdain and he almost felt disgusted at what couldn't possibly be the person he knew years ago.

"The coven! Don't you remember, I told you they were nothing but a manipulative mob of scaredy-cat hypocrites!" she replied, unintentionally revealing to him the root of the whole mess without even realizing it was. "You think I wanted to end up like this? I've been trying to get away from these bastards for years! But they had me in their grasp—what did you expect me to do!? These…things don't work the way you're familiar with!"

"Well," he exclaimed, brushing his nose with his thumb abruptly and then pointing his finger at her. "Maybe if you actually _explained_ anything around here, maybe I'd know! Why'd you kill that woman?"

"I can't explain anything! Not yet—"

She shuddered. Remembering Regina's murder made her disgusted with herself.

"Don't you fucking play dumb with me, Tess!" he grunted, in her face now and nearly poking her chest with his index finger. "You killed someone! Maybe lots of others too! And for what! Was that chick telling the truth? You're on demon paycheck now?"

She took a few hesitant steps backwards as he walked up to her, suddenly feeling the need to put some distance between them. "You don't understand—" she started, shaking her head and frowning. "Regina tried to kill me—she was crazy!" she said, unable to add that she was also fiercely guarding the Tome of Rites, which she now held fast against her chest.

The choker around her neck squeezed her painfully but she only winced, which he didn't seem to notice.

He was dogging her for answers angrily, feeling more and more that nagging sensation of disgust, the same disgust he had felt for those members of the Order of the Sword back in Fortuna, who were all too willing to become demons themselves.

"Really? Your face says otherwise—you're hiding something! Now 'fess up!"

"I can't!" she shouted back at him, jerking her arm and pushing him back. "This is your goddamn fault! Just had to come and get yourself involved—always the same, being a big goddamn hero! You idiot! Couldn't you have stayed away!?" she shouted, having lost her cool and her patience.

But it really hurt her because things were starting to fall into place; Vergil had some intention for Dante's presence there, at that time and that she had been the lure. She hated that idea; it pricked her heart like a merciless needle. For whatever sick reason, Vergil was driving a wedge between them after all these years and she couldn't even warn him. The choker was hardly letting her talk, it squeezed her neck so hard now that it cracked her voice and nearly left her out of breath.

"I didn't even _know_ you were here in the first place!" he said, throwing his arms into the air and turned around. "Some guy called me," he explained, his voice dropping in volume a bit, still irritated. "He said you were in danger—hell I'm not even sure what _exactly_ he said. But here you are, safe and sound and acting like a _real bitch_!" he snapped. "And that's pissing me off 'cuz you still aren't giving me a reason!"

"_Oough, he's asking for it!"_ she thought without realizing, angry beyond belief at his naivety. "Some guy called?! That's it!?" she shouted. "And you just believed him?! Are you _that_ gullible?! Did it ever occur to you that it's some kinda trap!?"

She managed to bring her hand to her neck just as the choker cut her breath to the point where she felt faint. She had spoken something which, beyond her knowledge was true and it just confirmed her fears. Who could have alerted Dante to her presence here? He didn't seem to know it was Vergil—or if he did, he didn't say.

"I was pretty damn sure it was a fucking trap! But was it really? No—here you are, in perfect health, _killing people_ rather than being in danger. And I'm getting even more pissed off hearing you saying that bullshit! Why can't you tell me? Lost your nerve once you saw me? Cat got your tongue? How about the fact you're just hiding something don't _want_ to tell me?"

She bit her lip angrily, frowning. "I can't tell you because you'd never understand! You can't—_I_ just can't! This doesn't involve you, it never did! I never asked you to protect me, I never asked you to—"

She paused. She couldn't do this, she wanted to escape, run away from him as if he were a danger. Something told her that she ought to get away from him.

"Forget it, just leave. Get the hell out of the city. This has nothing to do with you," she said, turning with the intent of leaving. "I wish you'd never turned up. What's happening here is none of your business…"

She only made him angry. "Don't you turn your back on me! You've killed a human and you're not givin' me any answers! I guess that chick was right—you _are_ sticking it with demons! Why!?" he shouted and this time he was obviously angry and disappointed.

That feeling was reaching a peak point. There was nothing left of his old friend in her; there couldn't be. The Tess he remembered would have rather died than serve demons, he'd heard her say that much back then, when a demon lord of Hell was about to kill them both. That was another lifetime. Now she'd all but admitted that she was doing demon's work and he remembered her say once that many wiccans did give in to the demons after all.

She winced, looking away and around, in a panic. She took a shallow breath. "What's it matter to you?!" she blurted, before she could help herself. "There are no real alignments here—there never were! This is how my world works; a dog-eat-dog thing. Wiccans or demons, they're all the same! Regina turned it into this, there's hardly a difference! You can't comprehend and yet you're trying to shove your way in! Stop it while you can and leave. You don't need to get involved."

"So you don't deny it?" he said darkly, feeling betrayed in a way that disturbed him. "Okay then, _witch_, since you don't deny being in with demons," he said, drawing Ivory from its holster, "you leave me no choice."

He aimed it at her coldly. "I'm gonna treat you like one—and I'm not gonna hesitate. You got one last chance at telling me what's going on, before my trigger finger starts to itch."

Part of her was expecting it would have wound up like this. Part of her—which had nothing to do with her second sight—was expecting to be staring down the nozzle of his gun. It seemed to her that this had been what Vergil wanted. To torture both by turning them against each other, a way of his to break her will—that's what she thought of his 'errands' that he made her run. It all made sense now. He wanted her total submission by breaking down every little thing that would have kept her going. It was odd because she thought he felt these methods to be below him, yet it wouldn't be the first time that she was wrong.

Be it Vergil or be it something else, beyond her perception, it pitted them against each other and she cursed herself for not realizing it sooner.

_What evil comes out of the book will be your doing. _

Her vision's words rang true now more than ever. What would happen if she had to open the book and divulge in its secrets? She had no doubt that's why Vergil needed her. She kept looking back at Dante over the gun and for one despair-driven moment she wanted him to pull the trigger and spare her from helping Vergil to achieve his ends. She'd been forced to her limits and now she just wanted out of this; having to stand as Dante's enemy just broke her up. The was no question of trying to fight him off; no matter how much she had changed and her abilities improved, the gap between their levels of power would forever be abysmal. There was nothing she could do but compromise with the idea of dying at the hands of a man she'd once called friend, cried and laughed with. Between lying to him and the inability to even warn him somehow, stuck as a puppet, she almost preferred it.

And as the choker kept pressing like a noose, it seemed a better end result to her.

"I know you won't hesitate," she said dryly, rubbing her neck with her hand to try relieving the ache. She drew a breath to be able to keep talking. "You never have. I can't tell you and that's final. Neither of us are who we used to be…but I won't bring you into this. Just leave or shoot me."

He frowned at her and clicked his tongue, looking away and lowering his gun briefly. He didn't believe her. What he had witnessed and her words had convinced him otherwise, and her inability or unwillingness to contradict what he had seen seemed to be real. He remained in silence and looked at her again.

Abruptly she began to move to the side, ready to run away from him, always looking at him; if he was gonna shoot her, it wouldn't be in her back. It was the last straw.

"You're lying. And you still piss me off," he said, overcome by that sensation of being betrayed.

He'd felt that before, when he first met Trish, when she had harassed him during his climactic fight with that Nightmare thing, back on Mallet Island. Back when only her resemblance to his mother had spared her from a bullet to the head. Tess never had that redeeming factor—in fact, when she wanted, her gaze would be icy and her face a mask of snide. She got to him without even trying.

For a short moment she thought he probably wasn't going to shoot her after all and started to leave. But it was a false hope.

She had only just turned away to flee when the shot hit her side, just below her ribs, blasting right through and exiting near her navel leaving two sizable holes and a lot of missing flesh. Her gasp was drowned by the gunshot. It felt as though someone had stabbed her with a red-hot poker. The bullet's force and her sudden movement made her stagger backwards once, apparently in confusion. He watched her drop the book at her feet, remain upright for just a moment before she leaned to the side and fell, her torso twisted and facing him, one arm stretched out like a broken wing, the other limp over her stomach. Blood poured out of the wounds and she let one choked breath, blood dripping down the side of her mouth as she stared at him in disbelief. Her eyes were like glass but for that brief moment she looked exactly like the girl he had once shared things with, cared about and lost.

He froze up as he stared her; snapping out of some kind of daze. She coughed and he winced as blood flew out of her mouth. His eyes widened because he didn't realize when he'd even pulled the trigger once—and the most frightening part was that he almost went through it and would have kept firing out of habit. Humans didn't need more than a single shot—not even to the head most of the time. He had never shot a human being with either of his two guns, without making sure they were really beyond saving, and yet he'd just shot _her_.

The first shot jolted his hand, snapping him out of his rage. He was still frowning angrily but his eyebrows started arching upward. This uncertainty, almost dread, was something he hadn't felt after shooting, never before.

"_Then why is it there now?"_ he asked himself. _"Did I shoot her to kill her or just to hurt her? I don't know—wait, that's not right! I never shoot without making up my mind! I never think twice when the bullet's halfway down the barrel!"_

"Tess…?" he said almost hesitantly, taking two steps towards her, lowering the gun. _"Damn it, did I shoot her lung?" _he thought, not knowing anymore if he wanted to leave her or not. He stepped forward again, almost horrified when her face tensed and her eyes dimmed.

The next thing he knew, the thudding footsteps of a furious and large creature closed in from his side and someone screamed in a throaty, demonic voice.

"Murderer!!"

Everything happened so fast that all Dante really noticed from this creature was its size, a human-like form and the mirror-like surface of its head, without a face, capped with messy hair. It jerked its huge arm out and Dante barely had time to dodge the vicious back-handed swing that had the potential to knock him off his feet.

But the demon didn't have much of an interest in him. Instead of persisting in its attack, it dove at Tess, whose eyes had now fluttered shut and did not move. The demon snatched her up, impossibly delicately despite its appearance, cradling her in its large hands, staining them red with blood and with a furious howl, leapt up to a building's rooftop in one bound, then kept hurrying along rooftops, carrying her like a limp puppet.

"_Shit…" _Dante thought, failing to get a good aim at it, after he recovered from that swing with his gun drawn and pointed out to shoot it.

It had moved incredibly fast, caring more about getting her away from there than fighting him. He sighed and holstered his gun. Sadly, this outcome sealed Tess' apparent decision. If demons came to her rescue—but that was odd. Demons didn't care for dying underlings.

"_Then again…she did say that wiccans and demons were no different anymore,"_ he realized.

Thinking of that, he eyed the book that she had dropped where she'd fallen, the small pool of blood spreading towards it slowly. He motioned to go over and pick it up when his sharp senses told him with certainty that someone stood right behind him silently. Before he could even turn, a thin and all too familiar blade ran him through, from back to front, poking out of his chest with a sickening sound, spurting blood and eliciting a surprised gasp from him.

And then a particular voice rolled into his ear, one voice he'd never forget and always recognize.

"Welcome to the game, Dante."

Vergil pushed the blade of Yamato all the way through Dante, relishing the feeling despite the fact that he wanted to keep his cool and just retrieve the Tome, lying there on the ground plainly. He'd seen just who had snatched Tess and knew what Sasha meant, but he let her deal with that.

He smirked when all Dante could muster in response was a weak blurt.

"Vergil."

Vergil abruptly twisted the blade, giving Dante an unavoidable pang of pain. It was only blades like Yamato, a true Devil Arm, equaling the power of Rebellion, that could really hurt either of them, even for a while and Vergil wanted Dante to feel that pain. He then drew the blade out in a quick, sideways fashion, cutting through him even deeper as he moved with a graceful, calm turn to stand in front of Dante, jerking his sword to the side to clean the blood off it and then sheath it, all in one smooth move.

Dante doubled over, panting from the pain and shock. Granted, he'd had his suspicions, but to see Vergil, so suddenly and so…changed, had come as a complete surprise and he could just stare.

Vergil looked eerily like he did as Nelo Angelo, albeit freed from the armor; his skin was still a sick pale tint, like marble and although they were fading like bruises, still had those markings on his face. And he looked quite…haggard compared to how he remembered him.

And boy, did he know exactly what Vergil meant by that vicious stab—a backstab—something he knew Vergil loathed.

Vergil nonchalantly ignored him and bent down to pick up the book that Tess had dropped as if he were expecting it and had come to claim it.

When Dante stood straight again, he'd drawn Ivory once more and pointed it straight at Vergil, feeling angrier than before, but this time, against his brother, he knew very well how to keep it under a mask of sarcasm.

"Well, well," he scoffed. "Should'a expected to run into you in all this mess. And you've been messin' with witches? Tsk, tsk, tsk…thought you'd learned your lesson."

Vergil just barely smirked. "I'm glad that this time around, I haven't disappointed you," he said pointedly, bringing up something Dante had said almost ten years ago. "I made meticulous preparations for the bash, this time. You should enjoy it," he said with a dry, cold sense of humor.

"What, ain't gonna stick around and have some fun with your little brother?" Dante scoffed in return, lowering the gun and shrugging—but not dropping his tensed stance.

Vergil's smirk widened when a woman stepped out from behind him and Dante's eyebrows bowed up: Tess. Or rather, as he realized, the Tess he'd chased there. "Not yet. I have some business to finish, before we can…settle our differences."

He turned around and started walking away as the outward appearance of Tess changed, melting away like ice to water. She changed into the witch that Dante had seen accusing Tess of all that stuff back in the coven ground, then Trish and finally it revealed a female form taller and with more bulk than Tess—and better endowed, he noticed in a sarcastic manner. She was beautiful but in an intimidating, demonic way with the dark skin and light hair and solid white eyes and that form-fitting red catsuit. Her horns gave him an idea of her standing as a demon—she was no pushover and reminded him of the succubus Nevan. Something that looked like a belt of bone plates was wrapped around her waist.

She smiled widely at him in a deadly way, showing fangs as Vergil left without looking back, without giving a damn as to what happened and with the demoness blocking Dante from following right away. Dante raised an eyebrow slightly; he knew Vergil was just treating him to a little delay, just like he had back then on Temen-Ni-Gru, only this time it was far more direct.

_Have fun, Dante._

He sure as hell planned to. Especially considering the charming creature his brother had left behind. "And here I thought you had no taste in women," he scoffed quietly.

"Let's play," she purred viciously, taking her hands to the bone plate belt around her waist and pulled, revealing what he thought was a belt to be a pair of spine-link whips made of bone with sharp edges and points. She cracked both whips, making a loud rattling and snapping sound, eying him with a provocative smirk.

He smirked. So she liked rough play…well, Dante was game for that, he almost liked rough play. He swallowed his anger and kept his cool, giving the situation a comical flare of sarcasm.

"Now, now pussy cat, I don't have time to play with you," he said in his usual, borderline lackadaisical smartass manner. "Why don't you run along before things get messy?" He raised his hand holding Ivory and pointed it straight at her head.

She broke into a cute but rather wicked-sounding giggle, but then she moved incredibly fast, yanking one of her whips suddenly and wrapping it around his outstretched wrist and with a tug, forced it down. He noted that her strike was pretty powerful but hadn't yet punctured his skin, although the spines of bone threatened constantly to do so.

And then there was a faint scent…somewhat sweet but also bitter, like bitter almonds or herbal flare of some kind that was giving him an idea of what to expect.

"Oh no, I _demand _to be satisfied," she said slyly, getting right in his face and her breath brought another waft of that bitter almonds scent; a scent of _poison_. "Or should I teach you how to treat a lady!?"

He gave an amused laugh and got out of her grip, tossing his gun in the air, allowing it to twirl once or twice while he wriggled his hand easily out of her whip's grip and catching it with a showy gesture. He still scratched his hand on the spines and immediately felt a little burning sensation which told him that her strikes were poisonous.

He moved to the side, shrugging in a faked, disappointed manner.

"Sorry, babe, I don't run with the dominatrix scene," he sighed.

She eyed him with a widening smirk and licked her lips briefly before lunging at him and yanking one of her whips at his legs.

He jumped in the air to dodge, flipping over her and pointing the gun at the back of her head as he passed, before landing on his feet behind her. "Come on now, it'd be a shame to ruin that fine body of yours!" he chuckled. "But I suppose you insist," he added and pulled the trigger.

"Why yes I do!" she scoffed, dodging the bullet with a gymnast-worthy cartwheel to the side, smoothly executed and with the same grace, yanked one of the whips at him as soon as she was on her feet, knocking his hand and gun sideways.

She let a snake-like hiss and spat at him—only, instead of saliva, an off-purple, viscous liquid flew from her mouth towards his face.

He titled his head to avoid it, but spatters of it dotted his face and he felt the caustic effect on his skin; that thing was pure poison, no doubt. It was burning him a little and he actually felt a bit seasick.

"Hey, hey," he laughed, moving back and to the side to dodge her repeated strikes of the whips. "Easy on the goods pussy cat. Play nicer!"

"That's so boring!" she laughed back at him, pursuing him with the solemn strut of a dominatrix and jerked her whip again.

It wrapped around his neck and she pulled back hard, almost yanking him off his feet and reeling him towards her. As she did, she snapped the other whip and the spines of bone pulled together towards the hilt, stiffening into a narrow, pointed blade of bone that she thrust ahead in order to run him through.

He scoffed and as she pulled him he adjusted his momentum and actually ran toward her. He twisted around and jumped over her yet again to get out of the grip around his neck, forcing the bone whip to unwind. The squeeze of the bone spines was unpleasant and they nicked his neck, injecting more poison in him that gave him more of that burning, unpleasant feeling. He turned his feet down as he completed his arch over her and cheekily kicked off her shoulder-blades to land behind her smoothly, sending her stumbling forward with a gasp.

"Come on babe, I thought you were gonna 'teach me how to treat a lady', don't come up so short," he scoffed.

She let an angry snarl and leapt after him, pulling back her other whip and stiffening it into a sword as well, attacking him with two blades. She was fast and precise, swinging them in wider or shorter arches, spinning round to add momentum as she advanced, pushing him back and forcing him to dodge. As she swung them, poison mist rolled off the blades, starting to circle around him like a cloud with every swing she made.

He dry-heaved at the smell of the poison cloud and would just side step the blows or block the narrow blades with his guns. When she made a lunge at him he side-stepped the strike and then stepped behind her, putting his left arm around her waist holding her back close to him as his right pointed Ivory under her chin.

"Come on babe, loosen up. I said I don't do the dom-scene so why don't you just show me a good time and treat me right and I'll show you a good time," he said cheekily.

She eyed the gun and scoffed with a patient sigh. "Treat you right? Oh but that's not my style, darling~" she laughed, then grabbing his hand holding her, twirled out of his grip in a tango dance-like maneuver and using one of her whips dealt him a powerful blow to the abdomen, sending him flying and right through the wall of an already derelict building not too far away.

Dante crashed back-first through the wall of the deteriorating structure, which looked like it could've been a museum, bank or civic building at _some_ point in its distant past, piling debris behind him as he went. He finally stopped with a small grunt, sprawled against a mass of debris, in what looked like a tall-ceiling, large lobby or vestibule with a cracked and collapsed staircase that once upon a time had been leading to the floor above. He lay there and chuckled.

She had pursued him with a gleeful smirk and he saw her standing nearly over him and sadistically assumed Tess' form and voice again.

"You don't deserve to be treated nice," she mocked, before she laughed again, her form melting back to her own and raising one of the bone swords to hit him.

That mocking and that form made his sarcasm fade and when he spoke again it was with a dry and deadly serious tone.

"Wrong form, babe."

He back-flipped onto his feet and finally ready to play serious, he put his guns away and grabbed the hilt of Rebellion.

"Time to pay the piper for that mistake," he announced as she backed away from him with a hiss.

His form blurred as rushed forward with a burst of speed and swung down with his sword using tremendous power behind his blow. She motioned to move to the side, almost turning her back at him, but it was a feint as he turned the sword around to swing directly sideways, towards her mid section with full force.

She let an angry shriek then jerked up one of her whips, stiffening it into a sword and parrying the side-ways blow, but the force was such it sent her skidding to the side. She lunged at him again, spitting poison at his face again and sending more billowing mists of poison at him, but he was getting insensible to its caustic effect. Feeling cornered, she twirled away from him, getting behind his back. She cracked both her whips and wrapped them around his neck from behind and pulled, attempting to strangle him with an indignant snarl, like a mistress abusing her disobedient pet.

He used his foot to kick his sword up into the air, sending it twirling edge over edge while his hands gripped the bone-spine blade whip around his neck and resisted the strangulation. He grunted faintly and for a moment his hands became demonic claws as his eyes turned red. He used brute demonic strength to pull the whips from around his neck then turning suddenly, proceeded to hold them tight in one hand and use them to yank her through the air over him.

She resisted the pull at first, screaming angrily, but a stronger tug pulled her right off her feet and sent her hurling into the air above him. He let go of the whips, jumped into the air and did a spinning axe heel kick at his sword as it came back down, sending it straight at her like a spear. Starting to descent, he drew his guns and as the handle faced him in its turn, he fired several shots charged with demonic power at it, pushing the blade in a straight line at her with the force of a rocket just as he landed with the look of a pro. He wasn't even winded.

The sword impaled her through the back, coming out over her navel and then crashing onto the floor below, pinning her to the tile-covered floor like a moth in a bug collection. She tensed with deafening screams that echoed about and flailing as a large pool of acidic blood formed under her, sizzling against the granite slabs of the floor. Then she suddenly went limp, letting go of her whips and lying there without movement or sound. Soon her body went up in blue-ish flames and was completely consumed by them, leaving Rebellion deeply stuck in the floor in a pool of burned blood.

Dante let a sigh as he walked over and reached down to pick up his sword from the ground. "I told you I didn't do the dominatrix scene."

Pulling the sword produced a faint sound of friction between metal and stone, and as he sheathed it on his back, the ground made a hollow crackling and grinding sound under his feet. He felt a slight tremor then without warning, it caved in, having been cracked and torn by Rebellion's mighty blow. It collapsed right out of under him, letting him fall into the darkness below.


	10. Chapter 9 The Beast In the Stone

**Author's Note:** Alright, to clarify certain things that you people don't seem to understand.

1) Whether I've played and beaten DMC4 on all difficulties or not is none of your bloody business. Why do you care whether I'm a SSS player or just an average player who cares more about ENJOYING herself than S-ing every mission in every difficulty? That feels like turning a game into a chore and I dislike that. But in case you're wondering—yes, I've played _all_ the games, watched the anime, read the manga, the comics and the novels, so I know the different canon(s). I _choose_ to follow the games' canon and ignore the rest.

2) Why I don't like Nero is _also_ none of your bloody business. Some of you like him, I (among others) don't and that's the end of the story. I know all the arguments supporting him but they still do not change my mind. I know all the benefits of eating spinach too, but I still hate the damn thing. Not liking Nero is _not_ the reason I abused him in an earlier chapter. Vergil beat the shit out of him because Vergil was being Vergil and _excuse me_ if I think Vergil would be pissed off to find that his sword was left to someone else. If I'd wanted to write a Nero-hate fic I would have. I just don't care about him.

3) For the love of whichever deity you owe your faith to: _I do not hate Lady_. The reason she's not in this story is _**because she has nothing to do with this plot**_**!** I have no plot-related reason for her to make any appearance what so ever (yet), therefore I did not put her in the story. _It's that simple._ There's no bigger plot of obsessive fangirl hate or something. Stop that. I may or may not write some follow-up stories after Crossfire, in which I have perfectly good reasons to include her. I never said I don't like Lady, I just wish she hadn't gotten a very obvious boob-job and worn whore clothing. In other words:_ I disagree with her DMC4 design, not her entirely._

4) The reason I don't like anonymous reviews much is because I have no chance to actually elaborate with you on the feedback you're giving me. I can't say thanks or ask you clarify a point of yours whose meaning I don't quite get—I can't even ask you to elaborate more on a topic that you brought up and I am interested in! Please, people. I am not going to eat you if you say something bad. I just want to be able to open a conversation with you rather than sit there and watch you talk.

Please…just stop making me out to be the bad guy here. I just want to tell a story.

* * *

**Chapter IX**

**Beast in the Stone**

Falling from great heights had become such a routine for Dante that he was comfortable enough during his fall to land smoothly on his feet, dropping to a knee from his momentum, with quite a loud thud.

Unfortunately, he wasn't exactly ready for the pile of debris that came right after him.

"Ah!" he blurted in surprise as a stone the size of his fist hit his head unexpectedly, before he even got a change to stand up properly.

Next was a pile of broken concrete, chipped and cracked masonry and some metal beams that plowed down as the hole he'd fallen through widened on its own, the weakened materials of some support beams crumbling from wear and the stress of his blows. They fell with a small avalanche of dust, burying him under enough rubble to make a small mound over him. That actually stung a little.

In his little space between the floor and the rubble, Dante coughed from the dust raised by the debris. He sighed, feeling uncomfortable by the pressure of the slab of concrete that had landed top of him. He looked at it and chuckled, pushing and lifting it as well as the rubble that rested on top of it, with both hands. The pile shifted with grinding sounds and with little effort, he threw it aside with a loud thud, like it was paper, raising even more dust. He got up with another dry cough and fanned the dust away from him with his hand. He sighed in irritation, shook dust off his hair and standing straight, smacked his hands all over his clothes, trying to get rid of the dirt and dust from it.

"Man, what a bad habit these guys have, ruining my threads," he sighed, then finally got a better look at where he'd ended up.

He'd landed in a large, wide basement gallery which further enforced the notion that this place must have been a museum at some point in time, possibly once holding a precious collection of valuable statues. Now it was filled with only dust, mould that clung to the plaster on the walls, scraps of wooden crates, old and broken furniture and some abandoned tools scattered about. There were no windows on the walls, only skylights that opened into a vast atrium above, their elaborate glass structures now shattered and gone. They were boarded up and only little light came through the cracks between the boards.

The stonemasonry floor was in relatively good condition, but the walls were showing cracks and some of their brick inner works and the arched ceiling's plaster decorations were half melted from moisture.

He approached Rebellion which had fallen out of his grasp a few meters away from him and picked it up, placing it on his back again, looking around. He fixed his gaze at the far end of the gallery. He raised an eyebrow and approached that side.

There stood a massive, completely still form. At first glance it looked like a statue that was left behind due to its sheer size, but upon closer inspection, Dante realized it looked oddly familiar. A large feline form, almost five meters tall and twice as long, with a bulky built, three pairs of horns on its head, one of which curled gently up-wards like an antelope's, another curved straight back and the third curling down and then to the front, like a ram's. The head and neck were covered by a richly carved mane made with deep relief that gave it a life-like appearance. It had nearly reptilian scale plates on its legs and a long, powerful-looking tail with a large tuft of hair on its end.

It was frozen in a life-like pose, poised along the wall, one flank against the stone, as if it were trying to circle an opponent that had cornered it. It lifted its left front leg off the ground in a gesture eager to lunge, with its claws pushed out aggressively. The rest of its legs were tensed, the muscles captured in their impatient tremble. Its head was slightly lower than the shoulders, jaws half open in a silent snarl and snout wrinkled in fury. Its left eye was shut in a nasty-looking grimace and a large scar, while the remaining eye was peeled open, completing the aggressive look on its face. It looked angry and yet at the same time, in great pain.

As he approached the old statue, a smirk formed on his face and he took his hands to his waist, stopping in front of it. He looked at it up and down, stopping at its face and scoffed at the improbability of the whole thing. No wonder they couldn't find him.

"If you weren't a statue, I'd say you look like a big, old coot I used to know," he said, musing the statue for only a moment before shrugging and turning around to leave, about to ignore it.

As he turned to leave, there was a slight gritty, creaking sound, like two large rocks rubbing against each other. Some dust and stone particles seemed to fall from the dark-colored statue and the ground under it shook a little, as if the creature had shuddered.

As he heard the sound, Dante stopped in his steps, smirking. He didn't turn around immediately, but turned his head back, looking at the statue through the corner of his eyes. The silent statue had settled again, but it seemed to be staring at him.

"Huh, so you still got some kick, eh?" he said, smirking and then turning to leave again, but then something else caught his attention, which he had not noticed earlier, on the statue's front right paw.

What looked like a metal wedge or sword was plunged deep in the stone, the blade disappearing nearly entirely into the rock. It was dark colored, made of plain iron with a triangular hand-guard and covered with strange runes circling around it in a spiraling motion. The portion jutting out of the stone was a little longer than his hand and had a crude hilt; it was made of a solid piece of cast iron and there was very little indication of any joints or soldering.

It was stuck deeply into the top side of the paw, passing through where tendons, bone and muscles of the paw would be in a living creature. The stone around it was slightly cracked, and through the cracks a nauseating, black sheen was visible under the stone. It looked horribly like a wound.

"Well, what do we have here…?" he said negligently, approaching the statue again. He looked up at it more closely and then at the sword.

There was another small shudder, fainter this time, as if a creature inside the statue was trembling, almost as if recognizing his approach. The cracks near the wedge lengthened a little bit.

Dante's eyebrow raised and he shrugged and sighed a bit as he took his hand to the sword's hilt. It resisted, but he gripped tightly and finally pulled it out of the statue with one swift movement. He stared at the statue expectantly for a moment, but nothing happened. He looked at the sword up and down, then back at the statue and then tossed the sword-like object behind his back, uninterested and about to leave.

"_Guess I was wrong…"_ he thought, disappointed, turning to leave.

The statue was motionless for another moment, but then with a loud grinding sound, cracks started spreading on its surface. Dante stopped and faced it again. It shuddered more violently, pieces of rock chipping off and falling on the floor with thuds and crashes. The shuddering turned into fully fledged motion as the being inside the rock freed its limbs, starting with the tail that broke out of the stone shell and swished in a nervous manner. Then the raised leg thudded down angrily. Its hind legs shuffled a bit as it shook rock off them, raising its head slowly, shaking it to break the stone off with grunts and finally stood straight, throwing its head up and letting a long, majestic roar while its coat showed to be a dark sandy color, its mane darker and its single eye a bright amber.

It growled once, looking dazed and lowering its head with a throaty groan, looking down at him before letting another throaty sound, like a sharp cough and stumbled to the side, its flank hitting the wall with a hollow sound and it seemed to dissolve into sand.

The next thing he knew, Dante was staring at a lanky, tall man in his late forties through the settling dust, leaning against the wall and trying to hold himself upright with one arm against the wall and the other hand over his face, panting. He recognized him instantly and laughed a bit, pleased that his guess had been right and that the old geezer was still alive.

"So _that's_ where you've been, Furball!" he said cheerfully.

"Ha-ha-ha, I see your humor is contemptuous as ever, Dante," the man wheezed mirthlessly, still winded, with an accent faintly British. "I'd love to see _you_ stuck in rock for 4 years, you little smartass. Ten years go by and I can already tell you haven't grown up a day."

Dante chuckled at his comment, eying him up and down as the man leaned his back against the wall, panting still. Dante shook his head a bit; Roy looked a little shabbier and worn than the last time Dante had seen him. Being trapped in stone certainly had taken its toll on the shape-shifting djinn, formerly known as _Abraxas_, a djinn of the deserts. He was never a large man, but Dante could see he had certainly lost a lot of weight, in an abrupt, unhealthy way and his skin was paler. His face looked more wrinkled when he looked up, even though Dante was fairly sure djinns aged much slower than humans, he looked unnervingly older. On top of that, Roy's left eye had indeed never healed since the demon attack that took it and he still had the scar.

"I hate to admit this," the man-shaped djinn added, "but damn, am I glad to see you, boy," he went on with a small smirk as he let his head touch the wall he was leaning against.

Dante shook his head with a similar smirk and approached him. "Nice to see you still got it, crazy old man."

He frowned a bit at the sight of Roy's scarred eye. Given the fact that Roy had survived the demon attack that had done that, Dante had half-expected him to recover fully from that and get his sight back. "Still missing an eye _and_ turned to stone? You've been hanging out with the rough crowd; who the hell did this to you?"

Roy was still leaning against the wall, obviously tired. He brought his hand to his forehead, shutting his remaining eye briefly. "Those stupid coven witches!" he snarled. He had his other arm pressed over his ribs. He looked rather pitiful under the baggy work-trousers and wrinkled button-down shirt.

"They ambushed me, damn wiccan guard-dogs, forced me to fight 'em off and then got me with a binding stake. If I ever get my hands on them--Damn wretches, just couldn't swallow the idea that someone disagreed with them!" he went on with another grunt, shaking his head and pressing his hand against his forehead and then looked at Dante up and down.

"So the brat's grown into a man, hah," he scoffed, eying Dante's stubble. "Still look like a punk, but guess I can't expect much from you. You look good," he went on, giving Dante a negligent pat on the arm. "Where's Tess? I'm a little surprised she hasn't come looking for me; guess she don't need her old cat anymore...Or did she finally call you just for my sake?"

Dante frowned, but this time it was quite bitter. Roy's spontaneous comment gave away that the familiar had no idea of what had happened in the four years that he was encased in stone. It looked as though Tess had abandoned him too.

"Huh," he scoffed, shaking his head. "I'm this close to insulting that... _witch_ of yours, Roy; four years without your ass around and she switches sides. Unless she did that before she dumped you to the wolves."

Roy's head jerked up, looking at Dante, alarmed. "What?!" he gasped. "What the hell are you talking about?!" he asked, flabbergast. "If this is your idea of a ridiculous joke--"

"Ain't a joke, old man. I'll break it down for you; first of all she changed her name and said she didn't recognize me, then took off like a high-strung shrew. When I saw her again she explained _nothing_ and even demanded that I haul ass outta here! She went on about it with the lamest 'none of your business' excuse I've ever heard."

Roy stared at him as Dante went on, looking surprised—if not shocked. "Wha--that's...I don't understand. I mean, yes, she changed her name to keep the coven from getting to her, but why the heck would she lie to you?" he muttered, looking into space blankly and rubbing his forehead. "I don't understand. The coven...they can't have done something to her--where is she?" he demanded, looking anxious now.

Dante folded his arms over his chest. He didn't want to mention that a demon had swept her up—let alone that he shot her—just yet. "No idea where she is, but she admitted she killed this woman--Regina, or something."

Roy looked alarmed and nearly jumped up straight. "Regina is dead!?" he croaked. "That's absurd--she didn't like Tess but why on earth would Tess--no, no, that's impossible!" he said, shaking his head. "I won't believe that!"

Dante shrugged. "Your call old man, I'm only telling you what happened."

Roy, now standing straight and having taken a step away from the wall, looked more distraught than ever. He even jerked his arm to the side, angrily. "You're lying!"

Dante frowned, narrowing his eyes a bit. "Why would _I_ lie to an old coot like you who hasn't been around in years, huh?" he said sharply.

Roy glared at him warily with his single eye, clutching his fists. "Hell if I know, but that's not the point now! Where is Tess?!" he barked, reminding Dante of the last time he'd seen Roy this frustrated, almost a decade ago. "She'd never do that--she'd never turn to the Void Path!"

Dante remembered that term; that was the way witches who surrendered their selves to demons willingly wound up taking. He recalled Tess' deep disgust at the idea and witches who had done so. However, what he had seen just a while ago was making him feel like the past was nothing more than just a past. "Dunno about _that_ , but if you're so sure that something fishy is going on, better stick with me. Maybe for once we agree on something."

"_You_, agree with me?!" Roy snapped with a deadpan look. "You've just told me that she's turned on you! You think I can trust you after all you've said, brat!?" he snapped, his face wrinkling in an angry expression. "For all I know, you're the last who saw her! What on earth happened!?"

"She's been sticking with demons, that's what," Dante said, almost snapping and already feeling irritated at Roy's attitude. "She nearly admitted it--Hell, one of them even came to her rescue when I shot 'er--" he stopped abruptly at that last bit. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. He already regretted doing that in the first place and he wasn't sure how Roy would take that.

Roy's eye peeled wide and his face contorted to an angry grimace at that statement. "You WHAT?!" he barked, interrupting him. "You shot her—are you _insane_ ?!" he went on, finally advancing towards him in a menacing manner.

Dante stood his ground "I didn't like it either, but she was crazy, man!"

Roy was suddenly lunging at him, out of his mind with fury. "You stupid idiot!! I should gut you for that!!"

The next thing he knew Roy was filling his line of sight, having suddenly changed into his full djinn form. Dante had never actually faced Roy—or rather, Abraxas—in a real situation, neither had he ever seen the djinn display all his brute force before, so there was no telling what to expect. The beast rammed him before he could react, slamming a paw into his chest and knocking him down. Dante grunted softly from the force of impact and his back thudding on the ground. Abraxas pressed Dante on the floor with his paw on the demon hunter's chest, as if he were a mouse, while his claws were just inches from Dante's head.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you here and now, boy!!" Abraxas' large snout snarled, inches away from his face. It was obvious he was barely restraining himself from attempting to tear Dante's head off. "You have the nerve to turn on her and then tell me so coolly!? You forget just who the hell you're dealing with!"

Dante sighed. Abraxas had certainly had hit harder than he had expected, and the pressure on his chest was enough to make him feel uncomfortable. Still, he could feel from the impact that Abraxas was holding back; Dante knew the djinn well enough to know that he was surely having _doubts_. That meant that Abraxas half-believed him and for one thing, Dante knew that the familiar was too intelligent to let himself to be driven by his paternal –almost- feelings for Tess. Besides, Dante himself had a couple of memories all too fond of the old familiar to keep a sincere grudge towards him.

So, he only responded with a chuckle, though a rather irritated one. Being thrown around so much was getting more on his nerves than usual—but Abraxas had always held his cards close to his chest and even though four years as a stone statue had taken their toll on the beast, Dante could tell he was more formidable than he looked. The last thing they both needed was a big fight.

"Look, you old fuzzball, no overgrown _cat_ is ever gonna kill me. Like you said, I'm all grown up now and you don't wanna piss me off. Come on, get your act together and take that paw offa' me."

Abraxas stared down at him as his angry, wrinkled snout relaxed and he merely breathed loudly, his nostrils flaring. "Really now, why should I do that?" he said sharply.

Dante sighed. "Listen old man, if I know Tess at all, after these last ten years…she's been acting weird," he said, completely seriously. "Yeah, she's gone crazy but I think she's tryin' to tell me something. Something's way off here and I got a feeling that she's been used and can't do anything about it."

Abraxas' eye narrowed, a little. He was considering things. "Then why did you shoot her?" he asked, very calmly.

Dante clenched his jaw a bit. He had felt the pressure on his chest lessening. The familiar was giving him leeway—like he always did. Abraxas, Roy…the old man hadn't really changed after all. He still trusted Dante and he was waiting for an answer that proved the trust wasn't being wasted.

"She wanted a way out," he said, honestly, with a face absolutely straight. "I know her, okay? She wanted out so bad that she _made_ me do it. I don't know why I went with it; I guess it's 'cuz I didn't want her getting stuck there—but she's not dead."

Dante smiled faintly. "There's no way that Twig's dead just yet."

Abraxas growled a little, still glaring down at him for a moment, his eye shutting and then opening to gaze at him quietly. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts and keeping his head level, after Dante's reactions diffused his initial wrath and made him think of what he was doing.

"You think she's still going, eh?" he grunted, sounding irritated and his tail swished from side to side angrily.

Dante just nodded. He could only nod, because he was mostly convincing himself that she really hadn't died, because a shot from his guns ever only meant death.

"C'mon, now get off me, you big pussy cat," he scoffed.

"Oh shut that trap of yours," Abraxas snapped back.

Abraxas breathed heavily through the nose a couple of times, then the pressure on Dante's chest relaxed completely, then almost hesitantly, the djinn pulled back his paw and in a frustrated manner turned around with a throaty grunt of anger. When Dante got to his feet, Roy was back to his human form, his back to Dante and his head lowered, hands on his waist. He seemed devastated and his shoulders were nearly shaking.

Dante knew all too well that Roy really adored Tess, like a daughter almost, since he had practically raised her. He wasn't all that surprised from the old djinn's reactions.

"I know," Roy said in a dry manner. "That girl's…too stubborn to die just like that. If something _is_ wrong with her—nevermind, I'm coming with you."

He turned around and retrieved a pair of narrow, dark sunglasses from his shirt's pocket, which he put on to conceal the scar on his eye. "But don't underestimate me again, brat," he added with a slight smirk, like he used to do in the old times. "I don't care if you kicked Mundus' rear; I was fighting beings as big as him before you even started existing!" he chuckled, a little tiredly. "I'm still queasy—but once we're done with this shit, I'll show _you_ old."

Dante cackled. Yes, Roy certainly had lost neither his own sense of humor, nor his fickle pride. "You got a deal, pop."

"Oh don't start with that, I'm not _that_ old!" Roy protested. "Now, serious business: Tell me what happened. You said Regina is dead, did Tess kill her?"

Dante shook his head, shrugging. "Hey I don't think it's time for interrogations, old man, we gotta go find Tess."

"No, no, hold your horses. This is not a direct issue; unless we know what's going on, we can't act. I'm not going to let you be reckless when Tess' life is on the line," he said strictly.

"Fine, okay. Yeah, I think Tess killed that lady, why?"

Roy nodded, pleased. "If anyone could ever kill that big bitch, that'd be Tess," he said gruffly, making Dante raise an eyebrow and smirk at his expression.

"Hmph, impressed I'm mouthing off like this? Well I'll tell you, Regina was playing coy and matronly but you wouldn't find such a dictator like her anywhere. The High Priestess in a coven is meant to be a simple guide, an interpreter of traditions, not a political or religious leader. She used her position selfishly and abused her authority, surrounding herself with loyalists. What's worse, she reverted things to the older, more conservative form of the creed."

Dante raised an eyebrow. "How's that bad?"

"It dates back to the Middle Ages, that's what! Back when wiccans were on the run from the Inquisition and what have you. Such a rigid creed has absolutely no goddamn bearing today—it's not needed! You can't go and control people on a mere whim," Roy explained. "That's why Tess clashed with her so much, she didn't accept that creed."

Dante whistled a little. "That why you got bumped off, old man?"

"Yes. Regina always thought Tess would eventually take her position. As a descendant of the founding High Priestess it's a sort of right she could claim. That's why Regina had me disposed of, to take power away from Tess," he explained, shaking his head. "Poor delusional fool! Tess didn't give a dime about that sort of thing. But that's not the point. Regina wouldn't have attacked Tess unprovoked and Tess wouldn't have attacked her just like that—"

"But she would if someone had ordered her…" Dante suggested.

Roy frowned, shaking his head in denial. "Still…Was Regina killed inside the coven grounds?"

"I think so, why?"

"That complicates things. Tell me what happened during the shooting, what she did. It's important."

Dante told him, in brief, what had passed. Roy listened without comments, only nodding or shaking his head occasionally. Suddenly he interrupted him, right when Dante said how Tess fell and Vergil showing up.

"Vergil! Your brother?!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah," Dante replied sourly. "He's in on this. I thought that after Arkham, he'd learned his lesson about using others but I guess I was wrong."

"Oh dear, that changes everything," Roy said.

"I know. This ain't about Tess, never really was. It's my damn brother and whatever obsession he's got this time. It's about the two of us. Tess is caught in the crossfire."

Roy nodded. "Yes. But you mentioned a book. Did you notice anything about that book?"

Dante shrugged. "Was old."

"That's all?! Oh come on, use that head of yours! I told you a thousand times when you were a brat to use your noggin! Think!" Roy blurted angrily.

Dante grimaced at the old man's lecturing. Roy hadn't changed in _that_ manner either. "Had a black cover, I dunno."

Roy tensed and gesticulated. "Black leather, about this big, no distinct bind but with a large iron pentagram stuck to the front, am I right?"

Dante looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Spot on. How the hell'd you know that? What book is that?"

"It's called the Tome of Rites," Roy explained with a very serious look. "It's the coven's most closely guarded secret. That book explains everything. Tess no doubt was ordered to get that book out of the coven and Regina got in her way. There's no way in hell that Regina would let Tess walk away with that book."

"Why, what's the fuss with that thing?" Dante asked, tilting his head to the side.

"The Tome of Rites has a long and bloody history. It was given to wiccans by demons, supposedly as a gift, but its contents are so powerful and tempting yet so horrible that it leaves only misery and ruin in its wake," he said seriously. "I've never seen it myself but I know it contains rites and ceremonies of immense power. They're incredibly dangerous and God knows what might happen now that Vergil's got them."

"Fuck," Dante blurted. "This isn't just his mania with the Underworld. If he's messing with wiccan stuff then I've got no idea what he's up to! I don't even know how the hell he survived or what he did all this time."

Roy interrupted him again with a hasty tone. "Doesn't matter, I have a pretty good idea. Tell me something: Is it possible that Vergil was ever associated with any other demon?"

The memory still pained Dante. But he swallowed his feelings down and answered steadily. "Yeah, Mundus. I think he was brainwashed or something."

"Then that must be why he needs the Tome of Rites. If he's trying to break himself away from Mundus' influence, he's planning to use the power of that book's ceremonies."

Dante's eyes widened as he realized where Roy was getting at. "He's using Tess," he said in a dry, shocked manner.

"Exactly. You remember, don't you?"

Dante brought his hand to his forehead. Of course he remembered. From his time with them he knew that wiccan powers couldn't affect demons in certain ways, like cleansing or charms because wiccan and demon powers tended to 'reject' each other. But Tess, whose father had been a changeling, blurred that line. She could affect demons. Hell, she'd saved his sanity back then like that.

"Yeah, I remember," he said through clenched teeth, tightening his fist. He felt incredibly angry at Vergil now. He'd duped him again and to make things worse, he'd gone and involved Tess. "She gonna be in danger if she does it, won't she?"

"In grave danger, I dare say," Roy said with a grave expression. "We've got to find her before he does. Or before she gets back to him. Come on, I know how to get out of here."

He turned and walked quickly to the other end of the gallery, where he'd been petrified and Dante followed him, where a door could be seen on the far wall.

"And just how on earth did you happen upon all this? Did Tess send you some message?" Roy asked as he forced the door open with a mighty kick that sent it flying off its hinges.

"No, some guy called me here," Dante explained, frustrated.

"Some guy!?" Roy blurted as they quickly climbed a long set of stairs to the ground floor. "Did you actually meet him?"

"Yeah. Said his name was Ricardo or something—"

Roy actually stopped on the stairs and looked at him, shocked. "Ricardo!? Ricardo De Castro!? He's alive!?"

Dante raised an eyebrow. "Why, what about the guy? Said he was Tess' boyfriend or whatever."

Roy's eye was wide and his expression shocked. "My boy, that's impossible!" he exclaimed. "Ricardo was involved with Tess for some time but when that Portuguese moron proposed she turned him down. And then the idiot went and _died_, five years ago! His tuberculosis got him!"

Dante frowned, realizing that the trap had been real. "Then what's he doing alive here and now, calling me to tell me Tess is in—"

He stopped and he and Roy stared at each other meaningfully. They were making the same thought.

"He's part of the plan. He's in with Vergil," Dante said, then slammed his fist on the wall beside him, cracking and denting it. _"Fuck. Tess was right. She was the bait on the lure and I just fucking swallowed the hook,"_ he thought to himself.

"Come on, this is no time to get angry. We've got to back to the coven," Roy said, seizing Dante's arm and tugging him.

Dante followed him again. "Why? What's the point goin' there? We gotta find Tess!"

"Do you have any idea where to look?!" Roy snapped back. "No, trust me. We need to get back there and find out more. If we have any way of tracking Tess down, that's where we gotta start. I'm afraid this isn't going to be entirely familiar ground for you, my boy. You're gonna need all the help you can get."

Dante huffed, dropping his shoulders a little; he knew Roy had a good point. He was well-informed about demons but when it came to affairs involving wiccans, he was in the dark and this clearly was a bad combination of both.


	11. Chapter 10 The Brittle Nature of Man

**Chapter X**

**The Brittle Nature of Man**

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"_Curse you both…" _he thought. _"Curse you fools."_

He nearly held his breath as he operated on the unconscious woman laid out on the table before him. He'd struggled to stop the bleeding and was now preparing to close the through-and-through injury that had punctured her side, almost obliterating her lower ribcage. He turned and fumbled on the small table besides the operating table, going through some vials of liquids. His bloody hands left smears on the bottles he touched, lifting them off the table a little to look at their labels, trying to determine what to use.

"_He can think…that he's killed me, the arrogant sod,"_ Ricardo thought furiously, his gaze hardening behind his glasses. _"But I…am a master of life and death. I cannot die. I am an alchemist! I have conquered all the secrets of the mortal flesh and have no true need for it. My spirit is not bound to the body, I can remake a damn body as many times as I please, that is not what matters. I am eternal!" _he thought in a feverish-like state.

Ricardo pulled the cork off a small vial filled with faintly glowing green liquid. He made a rough estimate of its volume, calculating whether it'd be enough for the extent of her injuries. He couldn't help himself and gazed at her face a bit longer, biting his lips and frowning worrisomely at the deathly pale complexion and the shut eyes.

"Tess, for a woman so close to death, you look like you're sleeping," Ricardo muttered quietly, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand, leaving another red smear there.

He concentrated on her wound, carefully pushing the edge of her shirt off it again and gently tipping the small bottle, allowing the vivid green liquid to trickle from the bottle and onto the wound. Some of it pooled around the wound but most of it trickled in. The wound reacted to the liquid and began to close slowly, starting with the deeper damage; flesh shuffled as it mended and the skin began to stitch together slowly. Indeed, his research on the essence and properties of demonic healing artifacts had paid off.

Ricardo let the bottle drop onto the small table without caring, eagerly leaning over Tess to feel and monitor her pulse and inspect her breathing. He let a quiet sigh of relief to find them both only slightly strained, but not rousing her from unconsciousness. She'd lost too much blood to wake up yet but the distillation of life essence that he had administered, derived from alchemically created, star-shaped crystals, would counter that. He had used that concoction countless times on himself but wasn't certain of its effects on a completely mortal body like hers.

Relieved to find that it was working well and that she was still knocked out, he stroked her hair, musing over her form on the medical table absently. The area where the wound had been, including her clothes, was still splashed with blood, as were the medical instruments scattered on the table, which he'd used to operate on her, as well as numerous clumps of gauze that littered the floor, all stained with more blood.

The quiet and isolation of the large room he had set up his make-shift operation room was calming, as it only now settled in. He had been too frantic with saving her life to notice earlier. When he brought her there, mere minutes earlier, as a demon cradling her in his hands like an injured bird, he'd been terrified that he was too late because she was barely breathing. Now that she was out of danger he could truly appreciate the disused and abandoned hotel that he had chosen as one of his many hide-outs in the city.

He had converted an old dining hall with a large skylight into a laboratory and medical room. The pungent smell of preservatives, medicines and concoctions of alchemical nature, arranged on the benches and shelves lining the walls filled the large room. The only proper light came from light fixtures overhead; the late evening did not provide much light through the windows and he had operated with the use of as much artificial light as he could get.

He brushed hair off her face, thinking and planning what he would do when she would wake up. He knew Tess had believed him to be dead all this time. _"You did not want to be mine then,"_ he thought. _"And I could not bear it. But now you won't have a choice,"_ he went on with a bitter frown. _"I will remove the seal from you and protect you."_

As he watched her, he smiled faintly. "Sleep, my dear. You'll be well soon. They'll never take you away again. I'll keep you safe. Nobody…nobody will take you away. Not Vergil, not Sasha…not that idiot, Dante. Nobody…"

"That's really selfish of you, not giving a damn about a girl's feelings?"

Ricardo grunted and whipped around, coming face to face with Trish, standing but a few feet from him with one of her guns pointed right at him.

"You…" he hissed. "You were able to follow me?"

Trish smirked. "I'm a pro, sweetheart," she scoffed keeping the gun pointed at him. "I should've seen this coming right away. You're not the first human playing demon that I've hunted down. What did you do with the Amulet?" she asked sharply.

Ricardo scoffed. "That thing? I don't have it."

Trish raised an eyebrow. "Then who does?"

"Ask your half-human friend, he'll have some idea, no doubt," Ricardo chuckled sarcastically.

Trish eyed the woman lying on the operation table and made a guess that this was the infamous Tess. "What about her?" she asked, nodding towards her, but keeping the gun pointed at Ricardo.

"She stays with me," Ricardo replied sharply. "Dante is the focus of this folly, not her. He can leave her out of his trifling matters."

"I don't think so, Ricardo. She's the reason you brought him here. And now you're gonna just blow him off without even paying up? Besides, you've been hiding a little too much stuff from us and I'm sure he'd be interested to hear from her what's been going on."

She started to advance towards him in order to make him back off, but he got angry.

"Stay back, you filthy Underworld whore!" he shouted. "I know all about you! I have had enough of this!"

As he moved towards her, his entire form seemed to swell and Trish immediately dodged to the side to avoid impact from his demonic form that hurled towards her. She was dead certain now that he was indeed the demon that had stolen the Amulet from her earlier. It made her wonder just how this guy was really involved in whatever was happening here. She had a rough idea but like Dante earlier, no way to confirm it.

"Heh, so you wanna play rough?" she asked, watching Ricardo pull his passive arm out of the wall, where he'd embedded it quite deeply into the concrete, cracking it from the point of impact up to the ceiling.

Ricardo breathed harshly behind the mirror-like mask, almost heaving with anger as he pulled his arm back and turned to her again. "I won't allow you to take her from me!" he grunted, lunging at her again.

Trish cursed under her breath as she dodged and opened fire at him. The room was large but not enough for her to move as freely as she would like and attack without worrying of killing the woman that lay on the table at the side of the room. Ricardo on the other hand seemed to disregard everything and was much faster than she thought.

She charged lightning onto her guns and opened fire. Blasts of energy shot out, striking Ricardo straight in the chest and face. He lurched backwards from the force but recovered surprisingly fast. Trish's eyes widened as she noticed that any holes that her blasts had blown through him healed over with surprising speed and absolutely no blood. It was different than usual demonic healing because it looked eerily like Ricardo's body was 'rewinding' its state back to the way it was before she shot him. What was worse, the electricity was absorbed by his body and she saw it flow down to his arms.

"Did you think me so naïve as to use the same methods over and over?" he laughed. "I improved on my abilities since you last saw me, filthy demon. I'm a master alchemist! I can manipulate the essence of demons in any way I want! It's easy for me to adapt every time to my enemy's powers."

With that he jerked his arm out and a thrust wave carrying lightning on it hurled forth towards her. Trish dodged to the side again but Ricardo was right on her, lunging towards her and disregarding the shots she fired at him. He sent more thrustwaves at her and every time one missed it would crash into the wall or floor behind her, cracking large dents onto the surface. Ricardo closed in on her suddenly and with the swipe of a massive hand got her in the chest, knocking the wind out of her.

Trish stumbled, dazed from the blow. She heard him curse in Portuguese as he towered over her and the next thing she knew a huge hand clamped around her neck and began to squeeze, trying to either suffocate her or break her neck. She groaned and dropped one of her guns, while his free hand closed around her other arm, preventing her from firing.

"Stupid bitch!" Ricardo snarled from behind his mask as he struggled with her. "You think I would let anyone stop me now? Nobody will part me from her again! You will die here, like the filth that you are. If either of Sparda's bastards comes to take her from me—I'll tear them apart!"

Trish struggled to breathe and push him off, even shoving her leg against his chest trying to pull away but she considered his words.

"_What'd he say? _Either_ of them? Is he saying Vergil's alive?" _shethought.

But she had to let go of that thought because she was starting to feel her neck about to break. She zapped him with more lightning but other than tensing and shouting in pain he wasn't reacting any other way that would indicate that his resolve to kill her or his grip were loosening.

Suddenly a roaring sound came from behind him and through murky eyesight, Trish saw a large flash of orange erupt from behind Ricardo. She heard the sizzling of burning flesh and heard Ricardo scream in pain. His hand around her neck loosened and she shoved with her leg, pulling away from him as Ricardo stumbled ahead, with his back almost on fire, flames dying down as he moved and hunched over with groans.

"Get away from him, he's not down," Trish heard the woman say.

She dove away from Ricardo and grabbed her fallen gun before standing straight. Tess had come round and entered the fray, looking angry.

"Tess…!?" Ricardo blurted, turning his head towards her and sounding shocked.

Tess was standing in front of the operating bed, her hands tightened in fists and her eyes were icy as she looked at him, angry and disgusted. "You should be dead, Ricardo," she said through clenched teeth. "You lied."

Ricardo ignored Trish completely, turning to Tess. Trish noticed that the large burned area on his back healed over as quickly as her own blows had. He was completely absorbed by Tess.

"I'm only here to protect you!" he told her, shoulders heaving from sharp breaths. "I had to lie because I couldn't bear it! I _wanted_ to die!"

She just shook her head, frowning in a disgusted manner. "I never asked you to protect me—you hypocrite!" she hissed back at him. "Look what you've done to yourself!"

He groaned in disdain. "All that I did, I did for your sake!"

"Really?! And did you bring Dante here so he would get caught in his brother's madness again—for my sake?! You're lying Ricardo! You're hoping he dies or that they fuckin' kill each other at last! I'm not stupid—don't come near me!" she shouted at him, her arm flying up in front of her in a gesture that told him to stay back, when he tried to approach her.

"Vergil's alive?!" Trish blurted suddenly, hoping to get some answers.

Tess' face contorted even more at the sound of that name and she spontaneously brought her hand to her neck and felt around it with her fingers.

"Of course he is!" Ricardo snarled at her, turning his masked face. "He's the one orchestrating this madness!"

"And that's why you dragged Dante here?! You're hoping he's gonna distract him—you idiot!" Tess shouted. "You hypocrite, you're doing his bidding!"

She back-stepped, intending to leave but Ricardo advanced on her suddenly. "Don't leave! You can't leave—I saved you!" he howled, holding his hand out to grab her. "He tried to kill you, but I saved you!" he went on pleadingly.

Tess reacted by throwing her leg up and kicking him squarely in the chin. The contact of her boot to his head echoed loudly in the room and despite his size, Ricardo stumbled backwards one step.

"Shut up, you monster, I don't give a damn about what you did. You're just…You're a goddamn madman obsessed with immortality and power; you're no different than Vergil!" she said, pulling away from him.

Her statement only served in making Ricardo furious. "You would deny me again!?" he growled.

Tess inched away from him, slowly moving towards Trish, eyeing her briefly before returning her gaze to Ricardo, who turned in order to face her.

"Don't be foolish Tess, you can't fight me!" he barked at her, advancing towards her again.

"Go to hell, buddy! She said no!" Trish snapped, getting next to Tess with a sudden move and firing straight at Ricardo's face, the bullets ricocheting off the mirror mask again.

Ricardo grunted and then lunged at them both, making the two women dodge on opposite sides and let his massive hand, with a blade shooting out of his wrist, to crater onto the floor. He sounded out of control, shoulders heaving and his body tensing from anger. They could hear him cursing in both English and Portuguese and Tess could even see his demon-like aura expanding and fluctuating angrily.

"I'll kill you!" he shouted and prepared to attack them again, but Trish opened fire at him, bullets piercing his chest, shoulders and rebounding off the mask again. She avoided using lightning lest he fired it back at them.

The barrage of shots slowed his rush a little yet weren't enough to stop him. But Tess' attack, an explosive blast of fire, did; it erupted right on his chest, almost on his collarbone and knocked him backwards, back first into a wall, making him grunt as he stood up again, shaking his head. The hole that the blast tore into his chest mended rapidly and now fire gathered at his hand, which he hurled at them like a fireball, furious.

Tess yelped and throwing up her arm, extinguished the ball of fire before it could hit them, then pulled away as one of the thrustwaves flew by her, crashing onto the medical table she had laid on and throwing it and the small table beside it against the wall, dented and torn, sending medical tools and vials flying.

"He's not gonna go down easy," Trish chuckled, following her lead and backing away from him while firing more shots.

"I know," Tess panted, "He's found some way of absorbing and firing back energy, the bastard!"

Ricardo lumbered towards them, flicking his arm and causing the blade to shoot out of his wrist again, breathing harshly behind his mask. "I'll kill you…if you won't stay with me in life…you'll be mine in death!" he said.

"Oh shut up!" Tess hissed, tempted to use another blast of fire at him as she retreated, thinking of what to do.

Trish instead let him attack her, but dodged his swing and delivered a mighty roundhouse to his face, knocking him backwards again with a grunt.

"Hey, redhead—Tess, whatever your name is! How do you beat this guy?" she asked Tess, holding her guns up again to fire at him before he could attack again. "Nothing'll go through that damn mask?"

Tess huffed, getting near her. "I've got one idea to stop that nonsense alchemy of his—can you buy me some time?"

Trish eyed her, not sure if she trusted this witch yet. Everything pointed to her working with or under Vergil and Trish had no reason to trust her. "How much time do you need?"

"About a minute," Tess replied, returning the gaze. "I might have a way to mess up his sorcery."

"You got it," Trish said with a smirk. "Do what you gotta do," she said, lunging at Ricardo as he got up and grunted before charging her like a bull.

Trish calmly jumped over him, turning in midair so that she faced down and fired at him, shooting out his shoulders and back as she passed, landing behind him. It angered him and he turned around to face her, sending thrustwaves at her and using inhuman bouts of speed to swing his bladed arm at her, trying to slice or punch her with the other arm. Trish parried with her guns or dodged, all in a succession of quick movements that Ricardo matched furiously fast.

Meanwhile Tess crouched down, and put her hand on the floor. Several thin flames shot out from her hand and ran across the floor, burning and charring lines and symbols onto the floor until a large circle, almost five feet wide was spread out on it, with smaller circles within it and various runes and signs between them and a larger symbol in the middle.

"_Okay, that should do it,"_ Tess thought quietly, looking up to keep an eye on the battle while Trish distracted him. _"This better work because I've got only one shot at it. I've got to close him in the seal and 'freeze' his powers. He'll become completely a demon, but at least it ought to force his body and spirit together for a while."_

When she was sure everything was set, she stood up again and approached them, pulling her arm back and charging a ball of flame, which she hurled at Ricardo's back, making him shout and turn to her.

"Come to me, Ricardo, let's settle this now," she said, her body tensing as she prepared for his attack.

Trish realized what she was trying to do and backed off him as he turned and seemed to hesitate between which of the two to deal with first. Tess was staring right at Ricardo's blank mask and her defiant and hateful look provoked him to attack her and he charged. Tess didn't move, only let him come right at her, in the circle which he failed to notice, in his fury. Suddenly she disappeared and Ricardo's arm swung down in a tiny wisp of smoke that was left behind as she teleported behind him, leaving him in the circle.

She reappeared next to Trish, holding her hand out and reciting some strange words of witchcraft. The circle lit up in a faint white glow that rose upwards like a thin, almost transparent wall. Ricardo quickly realized what she was doing and his tone sounded worried.

"Tess! Tess, what are you doing?!" he blurted, turning around to face her. "No, stop!"

He swung his fist to stop her but his hand collided onto a solid surface formed by the power of the spell. He was trapped within the seal.

"NO!! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!" he roared, pounding his fist on the wall and clawing at it with his fingers.

Trish stared—a bit awed, she admitted—as Tess continued to recite spells and the circle lighting up further with some of the runes between the circles turning red and some that were entire circles of their own beginning to rotate around the circumference of the circles, some clockwise and some counter-clockwise. She had seen similar seals used by demons—heck, even she had used them—but nothing quite like this wiccan one. It was more complex and had multiple layers, some meant for the body and others for the powers of the trapped alchemist, all seamlessly working as one. Ricardo raved and screamed louder and thrashed harder within his seal, unable to escape and feeling the circle's power forcing his spirit to bind with his body once again.

He began to curse and yell more angrily. "You bitch! You're making me mortal! All my work, undone!"

"I'm making you what you are, Ricardo," Tess replied, her voice a bit shaky. She could hardly believe that the seal and spell within it had worked so smoothly.

"I'll kill you!!!" he roared, slamming the blade of his arm onto the wall of the seal.

"He's gonna break through it. Now we can fight him for real," Tess said, flexing her fingers a little to prepare for some quick fire power.

"About time," Trish said with a smirk. "I was getting sick of this little drama queen."

That comment made Tess smirk a little. "You should've seen the day I said I wouldn't marry him..."

Ricardo finally broke out of the circle and lunged at them, but this time both Trish and Tess knocked him back, with a barrage of lightning powered gunfire and another explosive blast. He was thrown backwards again but he braced his feet against the floor and charged them again. They dodged him and continued assaulting him with guns and fire, noticing that his ability to absorb and send back their powers was severely lessened and his wounds did not heal over so fast.

"Trish! The mask! Try to break it!" Tess said suddenly, having an epiphany when she noticed how Ricardo tried to always face them so that their attacks met his front. More importantly, she could see that his aura concentrated on the mask, flowing _from_ it along his body rather than naturally engulfing it.

Tess was vaguely aware of Trish's name and identity, thanks to her second sight that had allowed her to see a few glimpses of Dante's life over the years and knew enough of the blonde woman.

Trish heard her and decided that how Tess knew her name was less important than concentrating on the task at hand. As she fired at Ricardo, she used her lightning powers to add force to the bullets, firing at his head. They still ricocheted off the mask but he pulled away from her, growling in anger. Tess pummeled him with fire and winced as she heard his flesh sizzle under the flames and grimaced at the foul odor it gave off. It reminded her eerily of what she had done to Regina just a few hours earlier and her stomach turned. Ricardo hunched over, twisting and thrashing to put out the flames and swung at her, making her back off but then suddenly lunge back forward again and drive her heel into his face.

The impact made a loud, hollow metallic sound and his head flew back and up, the mask warped faintly from her strike. She caused another explosive burst on him that knocked him off his feet and on the floor, right under the circular skylight dome overhead. Trish saw her chance and the next instant was standing right next to him, charging as much lightning into her guns as she could, then as Ricardo raised his head to stand again, she touched the surface of his mask with her guns, electricity crackling over them and fired point blank.

Tess shrugged at the force that the blasts from her guns, that made Ricardo crane his neck back, as he stood on his knees, howling in pain. The shots had landed with a booming, metallic sound and Tess was certain she'd heard a loud cracking. She watched, clenching her fists in anticipation while Trish backed off as Ricardo's head came forward again and he stood up.

But that blast had dealt a devastating blow because he stumbled when he stood, staggering backwards into the middle of the illuminated circle cast by the dusk through the glass dome of the skylight. Ricardo's whole demonic form seemed to shudder suddenly and he gripped at his face with his hands, grunting and cursing in denial. Through his swollen fingers the mirror surface of the mask was cracking from side to side, with smaller cracks extending from the two larger dents and making it falling apart in his hands.

"No! _NO_!" he roared.

Trish's eyebrows bowed up: The face that the crumbling mask revealed underneath was a stark contrast to the body; it was sickly-looking, thin and pale. His eyes were sunk in the sockets with the skin around them blackened and dry, peeling off his face in flecks. His eyes were bloodshot and bulged. He was nothing more than a demon with the face of a sick and weak-minded human.

Beside Trish, Tess stared at him from the edge of that circle of fading light, with her eyes cold and relentless like steel.

"Why, Tess?!" he bawled in a pitiful manner, falling to his knees and shaking. "I…only meant to protect you! Save you!"

Tess shook her head with her expression unchanged. "I was never yours to protect, Ricardo," was her only reply.

He panted a few times, his shoulders heaving and shaking, as he realized the deeper meaning of what she said. He understood what she meant and why and it drowned him in despair. He threw his head back, clutching it in both hands as he screamed.

It was a high-pitched, painful scream full of hate, anger and regret. It sounded more like a demonic screech than a sound any human could produce, and Trish and Tess hunched their shoulders and brought their hands to their ears as the shriek tore at their eardrums. It was a long-drawn, desperate scream, so loud that the glass dome overhead cracked and shattered with a loud crash, sending down a rain of glass shards, some as large as a man's height. A particular shard, having broken in length and not unlike a large blade in shape, fell directly down towards him.

Tess saw it, and motioned like to want to warn him, but was too late.

The glass spear pierced through his chest and jutted out of his back, its tip coming to a stop when it hit the floor, while its other end still poked out of his back a good foot or so. He let a sharp cough that cut through his scream and then gasped as further shards pierced his chest, arms and legs, falling from above.

Trish and Tess pulled back to avoid being hit by those falling shards, staring in surprise at the gruesome sight. The last of the rain of glass hit the floor, breaking apart into bits and Ricardo was still knelt there, arms limp along his sides, still propped up on his knees by the shards of glass piercing him.

Tess looked a little horrified, but shut her eyes and let a drawn out breath. It felt like a whole era had ended for her. Her look was anguished and she brought her hand to her chest, fingers reaching for her neck. Trish winced a bit at the sight of glass shards skewering the alchemist.

"That's gonna leave a mark!" she scoffed sarcastically then looked at Tess, holstering her guns. "You alright?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Tess said, breathing out a little more calmly and opening her eyes. "But I can't stay. Vergil is looking for me—" she blurted, covering her mouth as the choker around her neck tightened like a noose again.

"So he is alive…" Trish muttered, eyeing her warily.

"I can't let him complicate things any worse! I've got to go back…" she said, sounding a little panicked and rubbing the choker around her neck awkwardly. "This is all my mess, I've got to fix it!"

Trish narrowed her eyes. "That reminds me...what's your deal with him? What's going on, exactly?" she asked suspiciously.

Tess let an angry huff, making it obvious it was nothing good and fidgeted. "I can't tell you, Trish, but believe me, it's not because I don't want to—uugh!" she groaned, hunching over and gripping at her neck. "I have to leave!" she groaned painfully, already starting to stager towards the wrecked double doors of the former dining hall.

"No, don't follow me! You have to—" She turned over her shoulder as Trish motioned to follow and ask her again, before she vanished through the doors. "Find Dante! Tell him! Aaah!"

She winced, gritting her teeth as the choker strangled her.

"Why, what's going on?!" she shouted at Tess. "Why can't you tell me?"

If Tess ever heard her well enough, she did not want to answer or had no mind to answer as she staggered out, compelled by Vergil's orders to return to him as soon as possible.

Trish took a step to follow her out but a hoarse chuckle stopped her. She whipped around, reaching for her guns, to see Ricardo had shrunk into his human shape, while still pierced through with all those glass shards, clothes shredded and blood running copiously along the glass from his numerous wounds. A sickening, gurgling sound came from his throat.

"You're still alive?!" she exclaimed, drawing her gun.

"Hah…Ironically so," he admitted hoarsely. "She…can't tell you because…he's not letting her," he wheezed.

"Vergil?"

"Yes…Haha…I'm doomed to want to save her…even after what she did to me," he said with difficulty. "That _bastard_ Vergil has made an unwilling slave out of her. The…_Witch's Seal._ She cannot speak of it to anyone, hah!"

"He's controlling her? Why?"

"Like a puppet, yes!" he said with a cough, spewing blood. "She can do nothing about it," he said, heaving to breathe between phrases. "He needs her abilities. The tome she stole...on his orders...contains a ritual of cleansing so powerful...to undo his bind to Mundus. But she's...the only witch at hand who can perform it on a demon!" he said rashly, grimacing.

Trish frowned, understanding what he meant. "So that's what he wants..."

Ricardo groaned, his lungs starting to collapse. "_Hhhuurgh_...yes. But Vergil's desires are mere trifle compared to Sasha's ambitions..."

"Sasha? Who the hell is she?" Trish asked, stepping closer to him.

"A devil…witch!" he uttered, struggling to breathe. "I was…foolish to listen to her—but I loved Tess…I still do…" he rambled.

"What's her part in this?" Trish insisted.

Ricardo was expiring and she wanted to squeeze everything she could out of him. "She's…a seer but…she craves Tess' power as well. She will kill her. Vergil is merely…handing her over like a lamb to slaughter…" he said weakly. "I was…stupid to assume I could prevent it. I summoned…Dante to…hoping…he would distract Vergil enough for me to save Tess…" he coughed. "But it's too late."

Then he broke into a sarcastic, sharp laugh. "Killed by the very object of my love…whom I try to save even in my death," he gasped. "That should…earn me a place in the books of tragic loves…how abominably ironic does fate like to be, demon. But this is…the brittle nature of man…We yield to our follies. Go…tell that…bastard friend of yours…to save her…if he can…"

With that his head hung slowly and with a few more gurgling sounds from his throat, he moved no more and his rasp breathing expired. He was finally dead. Trish stared at him as he died, his body slumping and relaxing with the coming of death, then slowly starting to shrivel and turn ash-like, just to disintegrate into dust slowly.

"Hmmm…this job's turning out to be a bit more interesting than I expected," Trish sighed to herself, unmoved by the sight. She was all too used to people who were more demons or inhuman than human beings.

But she did turn and leave that place in a hurry, knowing that there was now a good reason to reach Dante fast and let him know of this sudden development, which, as soon as she weighed all that she knew already, explained nearly everything. That troubled the blonde most was that Vergil was alive.

Who knew what he'd planned; even though she'd worked for Mundus just like him, Vergil had served him far longer than she had. She had a shrewd feeling that, because of her resemblance to Eva, Vergil was actually disgusted by her very existence and hated her to death. She kept out of his way and he never showed himself unless Mundus specifically summoned him. There was no way she'd ever manage to comprehend him.


	12. Chapter 11 Revenant

**Author's Note: **I'm terribly sorry for this delay. Rounding up college, a short vacation and a bout of stomach illness got me putting off finishing and posting another chapter.

As is becoming frustratingly usual with these, an issue to address: I'd appreciate it if people would rather comment openly than sending me PMs—especially abusive ones. I'm quite tired of your drama and even more so the terribly constructed arguments. If the idea that his ordeals have made Vergil behave differently, or the notion that Dante can actually be surprised by some things are so abominable, by all means, say it out loud; nothing to be ashamed of. Get it out of your system and then bugger off about it. You don't need to prattle on like old maids.

And no, I do not write one-shots or ficlets by demand, I'm sorry. I find it very hard to compress my writing into someone else's fantasy—_especially_ when that fantasy puts me off like rotten milk. I gladly accept suggestions and ideas…but I refuse to be bullied into writing rubbish.

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**Chapter XI**

**Revenant**

"Alright, considering what you've told me about Vergil's past machinations, I can definitely see why he chose this place," Roy panted as he and Dante ascended a steep road of the town, heading back to the coven's manor. "This town's got a long history and besides the wiccans and the Rosengard coven, demons are no strangers here."

Dante scoffed. "Yeah, I thought they looked too comfortable," he muttered, listening to Roy's deductions, but unable to pay proper attention because he couldn't stop contemplating the fact that Vergil was still alive. Not to mention that he would have the gall to implicate someone else. He thought Vergil was beyond that, bringing a third party into their brotherly feud—especially after what happened with that Arkham guy. But the most infuriating thing was the fact that of all people, Vergil had to go and manipulate someone that Dante considered dear to him.

"_Vergil's gone too far this time…"_ he thought angrily. _"I'm really going to give him a piece of my mind."_

He tried to put that aside and concentrate on the present. "But what does it mean, old man?"

Roy let a sarcastic, knowing scoff. "Hell Gates. Dozens of small portals dotted around the city, all connected like a network; been here as long as the city has, maybe even expanded with it. It's been lying dormant for centuries with only one or two of the small ones opening at any time, by random people. But from the look of things, someone put a bunch of them back in business all at once. So many demons can't have come from one portal alone. Could be your brother's doing, although I'm not sure what he'd gain from this. Those portals are too small and too underpowered to allow any really threatening powers to come through."

Dante raised an eyebrow. "So what do you think they're _really_ for?"

Roy shook his head. "Not sure, but I think the network of small ones is some kinda conduit, but to what purpose, I don't know yet. One theory I've got is about a larger Gate somewhere in this city, but I have no idea where. I was close to figuring it all out when those coven morons turned me to stone."

Dante rolled his eyes. "Great…"

"No, listen to me, I really was close to cracking this," Roy protested. "If I'm right, the principal Gate needs a lot of power to open; power drawn straight from the Underworld."

Dante was catching on to Roy's conjectures. "You're saying the portal network is channeling power to the Gate?"

"I think so. Would make sense that your brother would seek it out, wouldn't it? He could go back and forth between here and the Underworld if he wanted. Not to mention draw from it as much power as he wants. It'd be the perfect site for that goddamn ritual. We find the Gate, we find him," Roy said decisively.

"Guess you're right about that, old man," Dante agreed and his fist tightened as he kept thinking about what part Tess would play in Vergil's plot. "How do you think he's controlling Tess, anyway?"

Roy grunted, annoyed. "I'm not sure. I know there are ways for demons to control a wiccan like a puppet but…I've never actually seen 'em. Certainly not like this."

That not so favorable reply made Dante scowl. "I don't care what it takes Roy, I'm getting her out of this mess."

An affirmative nod and a "Hmm," was Roy's only reply, but as he looked away, a hint of a knowing smirk spread on his face.

Finally at the top of the incline road, they made a turn into a street Dante had passed before, when he was chasing the impostor demon in Tess' form. The manor would be at the very end of that road, at a T-junction, behind a grove of trees growing a long an isle that separated the boulevard.

"Ah," Roy muttered suddenly. "Did you feel that?" he added. "Something is here…"

A smirk finally crossed Dante's lips and he nodded. "Looks like someone planned some fun, at last."

His reaction elicited an eye-roll and a smirk from Roy. "Ever the big kid," he scoffed, allowing the demon slayer the lead and followed him at a faster pace as they approached.

As they got past the row of trees and came before the manor, an eerie silence and stillness marked the place. It was as Dante had left it when he and Tess made their escape from the wiccans before their own face-off, but it was now surrounded by an otherworldly sheet of energy.

"Hmph, demon seals," Roy muttered as he stared at the wall of translucent red, filled with darker and lighter ripples, which stretched upward and vanished high into the sky. "Whoever put this up really wanted this place sealed in and it ain't the wiccans."

"Seals, eh? Gonna have to do something about that, then," he said confidently and walked towards the edge of the wall.

Roy scoffed a little. "Well then, let me see you open this one, kid," he said a bit sarcastically.

Dante raised an eyebrow at his attitude and took his sword in hand. "Watch and learn old man," he said, gripping the hilt tight as he swung down at the wall with all the force he could muster.

To his amazement, the wall crackled at the point of impact, sending a reverberation out and just bounced the sword back so hard it nearly went flying out of his hands.

"…The fuck?" he blurted without meaning to.

Roy suppressed a chuckle. "Still jumping the gun," he said with his hand over his chin, index finger trying to hide the smirk. "I have no doubt you _can_ break this wall down but it would take time, and time we don't have," he added, folding his sleeves and stepping forward. "Let me do it this time, I have enough stamina for this."

As much as it annoyed him, Dante had to admit that Roy was right. He might have the superior power between them at the moment, but he would always have to acknowledge that Roy's greater experience and wisdom would outdo brute force more often than not.

He brushed past Dante and reached out to the wall with his hand. It fizzled on contact with the demonic wall but other than a small twitch Roy ignored it. He let his hand spread on the surface and gripped his wrist with the other hand.

Dante eyed him with a slightly perplexed expression. "Okay, what the hell are you doing, old man?"

Roy's face contorted to a frown of concentration as ripples from the wall surrounded his hand, as if they were trying to eat away at it and his wrist shook.

"I'm going to tear this down—at least, a part of it. We haven't got the time to waste, working the whole thing down. It doesn't matter," he replied through his teeth.

He then proceeded to push his hand more firmly against the seal's outter wall, gritting his teeth. The surface between his hand and the wall crackled with energy and rippled violently as if a strong reaction was taking place. His hand started to slowly slip in the seal as if he were dissolving the part under his hand. It was obvious he was exerting a considerable power judging from the yellow, gritty aura that surrounded his hand and started to expand, pushing back the demonic energy. Roy grunted a little and his face contorted further as he pushed more firmly and the yellow expanded abruptly into the red, tearing it apart with a loud fizzling sound and more cracklings of energy. Dante's eyebrows bowed up a little and he couldn't help that old feeling he had when he was a teenager; he couldn't help but admire Roy's strength and power, even when it manifested in this humble manner. Dante always knew the djinn was a force to be reckoned with—and now he knew that still a fact even if he had spent several years trapped in a shell of stone.

He just chuckled a bit, watching him. "Huh, always with a surprise, old man."

Roy removed his hand from the hole in the wall that kept dissolving into a larger one, holding his wrist as his hand looked red, raw and covered with some blisters as smoke rose from it.

"Hrmph!" he responded with a smirk. "If you keep calling me old, I'm going to really hit you," he said dryly, shaking his hand and dissipating the smoke.

Dante couldn't help but smirk at the djinn, whom he'd seen as a mentor at least once in his life. "Tell you what furball, when this is done you and I can have another spar," he said cheerfully, remembering his first spar with Roy. "Now come on and let's go."

Roy put on a similar smirk and followed him, rubbing his aching hand. "I'll look forward to that, twerp," he scoffed. "But there's still something here."

No sooner had he spoken, that the side of the building they were facing, 'exploded' outwards with an ear-piercing rumble and pieces of stone and debris flew in every direction. A loud grunting sound and screams followed the chaos as the dust settled. They stopped and watched a gigantic bull-shaped creature, at least ten to twelve feet tall, trudge out of the blown side of the building, its three pairs of horns arranged on its head in two curved rows, like an infernal crown. It's robust and stocky body rippled with muscle under the deep red hide with black marks of swirls and jagged stripes. It had a black mane sticking up along its neck from its head to its shoulders and a similar tuft of spiky black hair tipped the reptilian-like tail.

Heavy feet tipped with two massive claws instead of hooves stomped the ground as it crushed a human onto the ground with its head, snorting aggressively as it smothered and ground the life out of its victim until the screaming and squirming human lay still. Other wiccans fled through the debris, with panicked screams and terrified cries. The bull demon raised its massive head, abandoning its squashed quarry, to stare at the fleeing humans with blood-red eyes. It jerked its head with a loud roar and a crackling noise preceded the formation of black energy between the forward pair of horns, before shooting out like lightning and striking some of the fleeing wiccans. They were killed instantly.

Roy eyed up the beast and sighed with exasperation. "Zagam," he stated, as though he were talking about a familiar dog that he disliked. "I'll be damned. You'd think that old bastard would quit going after witches since they banished him to the bottoms of the Styx. I imagine you want to handle this," he stated, looking over at Dante meaningfully. "I'll try to wrangle and then evacuate these pathetic idiots," he added, nodding towards some fleeing wiccans and started heading their way.

Dante knew Roy was more than annoyed he had to step down and leave the fight to him. He could tell the old cat was raring for a fight and scoffed. "Sure thing, old man. Finally, a bit of fun!" he observed and walked up to the raging bull demon in a carefree manner.

"So…Zagam eh?" he said and scoffed. "I've heard dumber names. Care to dance big guy?"

He propped his sword over his shoulder like always and waiting for the demon to make its first move. Zagam had ignored him and turned its attention to some fleeing wiccans and Roy as he began to usher them away through the opening of the demonic seal, helping them escape. It lowered its head and another sphere of black energy crackled between its horns as it took a step towards them about to attack them.

Dante interrupted that attack by merely drawing Ebony from its holster and without even as much as glancing at his target, shot Zagam in side of the face three times to get its attention. He waved his gun as he smirked, "Ah-ah-ah, I've booked you for this one, big guy, so leave the old man alone, will ya?"

Zagam, startled from the attacks, abruptly reared its head up and to the side with a deafening roar. It shook its head and the energy charging on its horns erupted upwards as it swung its head, dissolving harmlessly into the sky. It shook its head again, the flaps of muscle in its neck swishing gently with the motions and then raised its head and looked over at Dante. It stood still, eyeing him carefully. Its massive nostrils flared and it snorted, exhaling gray smoke from them and its eyes narrowing to slits.

"Looks like I finally got your attention! Now come on and show me that you're not just _bull_shit," Dante scoffed, putting his gun away and stuck the tip of his sword into the ground. Cheekily he held up a flap of his red coat to his side and shook it in a teasing manner. "Or do I have to rope you in?"

The bull-shaped demon began reacting to the challenge. It scratched the ground with its claw and snorted angrily. The inevitable charge came shortly afterward as Zagam lowered its head again and charged Dante at a surprising full speed with all three pairs of horns pointed right at him, grunting loudly as it stampeded towards Dante.

Dante watched its advance with a certain smirk of glee and then easily dodged the charge with a side step and a relaxed twirl, like a real _matador_, and grabbed his sword from the ground and jumped up, swinging to the side. As he passed he turned a bit and was able to cut a large slice along the creature's flank as it passed, making it turn and skid around, grunting with blood flying from its flank. He smirked and twirled his sword in one hand as soon as he had landed, just to wave the flap of his coat with the other again.

"How lame, I thought you were in the big leagues. What is this, a rodeo?"

Zagam glared at him, snorting angrily and scratching the ground with its clawed front foot. Then, surprisingly fast for its size it suddenly reared up on its hind legs. It proceeded to slam its front legs onto the ground, sending a mighty shockwave towards Dante that had enough force to completely demolish the normal wall that surrounded the manor's courtyard, sending debris flying and proceeded to partially collapse a nearby building that stood in its path.

Dante coolly took his sword and charged his energy into the blade and swung down sending a vertical slice of energy that cut through the middle of Zagam's blast wave. Being cut in half, Zagam's blast wave blew past him harmlessly to the sides, obliterating ground and walls as it passed.

"That all you got? Too bad."

Zagam let a loud grunt as it observed his reaction. He lowered his head again and more crackling black energy charged between the beast's horns before it shot off like lightning at Dante again. He reacted by moving to counter it again, drawing Ebony up while Zagam was charging his blast and charged his own demonic energy to the gun. He shot directly into the center of the black lightning orb to dissolve it. To his surprise the charged bullet had little to no effect on the black lightning. It kept charging on and hit him in the chest, knocking him off his feet. He managed to turn over in midair and landed on his feet, with a small wisp of smoke rising slowly from his chest where he'd been hit.

He chuckled, beating the smoke off his clothes a little. "Now that's more like it! Come on, give me your best shot—or is that all?"

Then he glanced over his shoulder as Roy was shouting at him.

"Dante! Don't dally around with him, we haven't got all day!" Roy barked. "We only have so much time before Vergil goes through with that damn ritual!"

Dante winced a bit and faced Zagam again_. "The old man's right. I'm gonna have to forfeit my fun this time, I gotta save the Twig first."_

"Looks like we're gonna have to keep this short, pal," he said with a sigh, twirling his gun lazily.

He smirked as Zagam didn't disappoint him, because the demon charged him again with its head lowered and its horns pointed straight at him. It barreled down towards him like a train going down a slope with no breaks, grunting and growling lowly while its feet thudded against the ground, causing tremors.

Dante eyed the demon and sighed. "That again? Don't you have anything better than that?"

As Zagam approached him, Dante dropped into a stance and the moment the demon was about to run him through with its horns, he jumped up. He flipped in midair as Zagam's horns passed under him. He landed his foot on its head in an axe kick with all his strength, jumping off it. The strike was so powerful that it caused Zagam to stumble, hitting the ground jaw-first and its momentum made it drag along the ground for a few feet before friction stopped it.

Dante laughed as he landed softly and drew his guns. Zagam was just pulling itself up when Dante fired a volley of bullets at its head, directly hitting one of its eyes. Zagam shivered wildly and jerked itself up, shaking its head, dazed and bellowing loudly. It swept its muscular tail along the ground to hit him, but Dante dodged with an easy jump backwards, drawing his sword and bringing it down as Zagam swung the tail again, neatly chopping off the tip and making the demon roar in pain and throw its head back, thrashing.

Zagam whipped around and measured Dante up while blood spurted out from its severed tail. It then jerked itself backwards and stomped one foot onto the ground, causing a tremor. A circle of demonic runes glowed red from the point impact and Dante felt something coming up under his feet. He dodged suddenly as a series of large spikes of red energy erupted out of the ground under his feet. He skidded sideways a couple of times as the spikes seemed to follow his motions as if they were homing in on him. To make matters worse, Zagam was firing spheres of black lightning at him again.

Dante dodged as fast as he could bother, but eventually the spikes caught up with him and some stabbed right through his legs, pinning him, while more sprouted out of the ground, some stretching as high as to pierce his chest and others grew out around him to hold him in place like bars. He was stopped in his tracks and he huffed in a bit of an annoyance. The spikes stung a lot but they were far from lethal, at least for him. But his expression changed as he watched Zagam charge at him again, snorting and grunting like an angry bull.

"I can see where this is going…" he muttered, aware that he had wasted enough time as it was.

He freed his arms, wrenching them out of the hold of the spikes, not afraid to rip his arms off them and braced himself. Zagam closed in and was about to run Dante through when its large body was jolted and its acceleration abruptly slowed before being stopped completely. Dante chuckled through grit teeth. Zagam snarled, trying to push against him. Dante had released his demonic powers and was now a tall and red, fierce demon holding off Zagam with his arms almost wrapped around front-most horns and his clawed feet dragging along the ground until friction stopped them.

Zagam tried to force forward with a loud snort and the muscles of its neck trembled in effort while its front legs' claws dug into the ground trying to gain grip to push forward but Dante's strength was unwavering. The demon beast then tried to yank its head backwards again without success and only managed a weak-looking tug with a surprised grunt.

"Heh-heh-heh," Dante chuckled evily. "Looks like I…really gotcha now!"

He then heaved hard as Zagam made another futile attempt to push him over and forced the beast to stumble sideways. Zagam let a startled grunt and when Dante finally released its horns suddenly, the beast fell heavily to the side, crashing into a structure and taking down the front wall in a crashing tumble of rubbles. Dante's demonic form faded and he approached the downed demon as it was getting up, pieces of rubble falling off it. His maneuver had not been wasted as Zagam seemed dazed while standing. He jumped over the swung tail, still bleeding, and jumping off the severed appendage drew his sword from his back and swung it overhead. Zagam roared and jerked its head towards him with massive jaws gapping open as though it was going to swallow him whole.

Dante brought down the sword on Zagam's head so hard that the top-heavy beast fell face-first onto the ground with a painful roar, leaving a small crater in its wake where the head hit the ground and a fountain of blood sprayed upwards from the massive, cracked skull. Dante jumped off the demon and sheathed his sword again. It didn't move but when he was about to turn and leave it moved suddenly, raising its head with rivers of blood streaming from it and attempted to seize him in its jaws, just to take two charged shots in the face and collapse sideways heavily for the last time.

He surveyed the now dead demon one last time as it started to dissolve suddenly and then he turned away to head back to Roy who was waiting for him near the now wrecked door of the manor that had been blown outwards from some powerful force. The few remaining wiccans were already fleeing in a right panic. The door was still smoking and the wiccans were getting away from Roy as well, so Dante just put two and two together that Roy was the cause of the door's state.

"Breaking and entering, old man?" he chuckled, raising his hands a bit.

Roy smirked. "You took too long. Come on, we've got to find Regina's chambers. The wiccans told me she had a secret document with the location of this Hell Gate. Bloody bitch knew all about it already."

Dante just shrugged and followed him. He recognized that unless they made this necessary detour they'd never find the Hell Gate in this city. It was so flooded by ever-increasing demonic essence that even his senses were starting to get a little confused. The interior of the manor was in a similar state of disarray as the outside. Bodies littered the lobby and hallway that Dante had passed through once before in the start of this messed up day. The victims of what were certainly demons that had followed Zagam were lying on the floor, ripped apart, cut in pieces and crushed in pools of blood with horrified expressions on the few that were intact enough to have faces. Impact dents, holes and burn marks on walls and discarded weapons indicated a battle between the demons and wiccans.

"Hmph, certainly not done, are they?" Roy muttered when they turned into another, wider corridor perpendicular to the one they were following.

Several small-time demons were populating the corridor, phasing in through walls and approaching them as the two men hurried down the hallway. Dante recognized the Abyss demons from the last time he'd seen Vergil. He drew his guns and started shooting out the demons that started to attack them. One of them came from above, swinging its scythe at him and before he could draw his sword to block it or dodge it, a blow came out of nowhere and knocked it down on the floor. Dante stared in mild surprise as a mass of sand squished the demon's head like a ripe fruit.

"I told you, don't waste time," Roy said briskly, as the mass of sand reeled back like a serpent and he directed it to another demon with his gaze while particles of sand still linked back to his body like thin ribbons. The mass of sand swung like a scythe itself, sweeping another Abyss demon and smashing it against a window, throwing it out of the building.

Dante smirked. "Haha, is that what you've been hiding all this time, old man?" he laughed, shooting down another Abyss and then cutting its head off with a clean swing. "Never saw you use that in the past!"

The djinn was laconic. "Wasn't the time. Hurry up, this way."

Dante finished off another Abyss and following Roy ducked into a grand stairway leading up to one of the tower-like structures of the manor. Some more demons attempted to stop their ascent but they were all dealt with in the same way as the earlier ones, cut down in a matter of seconds; the constrained space didn't allow for much maneuverability, but it was enough for Dante to make a mental note that sand could hurt a living thing in more ways than he had ever imagined.

"This should be it," Roy said, stopping at a large landing halfway up the tower, in front of a pair of two impressive-looking doors with very detailed carving. Someone had placed a seal of red wax on the two doors, then pressed a complicated signet of a magic circle on it.

"Hmph, wiccan seals—like that'll stop me," Roy growled quietly, and Dante just barely had time to cover his mouth and nose when a large quantity of sand trickled off Roy's right arm and leg, filled the space like a contained sandstorm and then concentrated into a solid mass and slammed onto the doors, blowing them inward with a crashing sound.

Dante had to laugh; he always remembered Roy as being a master of subtlety, and now he was honestly enjoying the djinn's forwardness. "And I thought I'd seen you pissed off when you caught me and Tess fightin' Chernobog that first time…" he chuckled.

"You wish," Roy replied dryly as he strode in.

The room beyond the smashed doors was quite the aristocratic and grand abode that was spacious and elegantly decorated with two tapestries on the walls, a couple more paintings and furniture that Dante was certain would fit better in a high-end auction than here—except for the two doors having crashed in. One of the doors had smashed into a king-sized canopied bed made of wood and brass with light red curtains and silk covers, now covered in splinters, broken bits of wood and sand. The other had rammed through a grand window beside the bed, smashed the glass and leaning perilously onto the windowsill, waiting to fall off and out the tower and having torn a heavy red curtain down as it passed, the curtain rail hanging pitifully over the side of the window.

Roy cringed hard at the room. Dante thought he was probably put off by the hypocrisy of Regina's choice to have a highly luxurious room that looked out of place against the rest of the manor's humbler setting. Then they both looked at each other and they almost read each other's thoughts: What on earth was that smell?

"Burned flesh," Roy said as-a-matter-of-factly, eying a form laid on a table to the side of the room, covered with a sheet. The form looked eerily human. Another sheet covered what appeared to be a large, full body mirror on the other side, next to a wardrobe. "Yes, that'd be Regina's corpse," he said, knowing Dante's question. "Rites of the dead, covering the mirrors and closing the windows. Like she deserves any peace," he said coldly and strode over to a desk nearby the covered mirror, then carefully ran his finger along a series of bound booklets lined on one of the shelves.

Dante somewhat despaired over the number of them. "That'll take forever, Roy!" he protested. "You're the one who said we don't have time!"

"Quiet," he countered. "I know exactly what I'm looking for, these are dated and organized. Witchcraft may be erratic at times but chaotic and disorganized it is not—besides, Regina was obsessed with power and getting things her way, what makes you think she'd toss her research around without order?"

He pulled out one of them and leafed through it quickly, his eye zipping back and forth rapidly as he mumbled to himself while he read. His eyebrows bowed up and his expression seemed satisfied. Dante was distracted; the smell of the burnt body was very strong and as he eyed the small size of the remains he couldn't help but wonder exactly how much damage Tess had done to the High Priestess. He glanced at Roy briefly and then slowly lifted the sheet.

He pulled back in disgust; Regina had burned while very much alive if the expression on her charred face was any indication: Jaws agape in a shriek, neck twisted in convulsions and her limbs frozen over her chest in a spasm, as were her legs, sprawled and tensed. He remembered first seeing her and estimated that she had shrunk to about half her total mass, maybe more and his eyebrows bowed up a little. Tess had burned her to a crisp. He recalled her expression when she ran into him: She looked terrified and now he realized it wasn't because she was being pursued. She had been horrified at what she'd done.

"I've got it!" Roy said triumphantly. "And it makes perfect sense, that place has been a downright freakshow for ages now!"

"Where is it?" Dante asked, wheeling around with a relieved anxiousness in his tone.

Before Roy would answer he just stared at Dante, or rather at his general direction with a frozen look on his face, his eye wide and peering over his glasses with a stunned look. Then a boney, gritty hand—or what felt like one—grabbed Dante's arm. Before he could turn, the other arm, covered in charred, putrid flesh wrapped over his shoulder and nearly gave him a sleeper hold. The rattling and creaking of bones let him know that the charred body that had been lying on the bed was actually getting up and then spoke in a dry, gritty voice that sounded like it came from the depths of a well.

"She was right…" It sounded like a woman but it was so cracked and disrupted that it was hard to tell. "She warned me…"

"Dante, don't move. Listen to it!" Roy ordered him sharply, holding up his hand in a very imperative gesture to emphasize his command as Dante made a motion to tear himself away from it.

Dante cringed, but did as told. The putrid smell of the charred body was burning his nostrils and the deathgrip on him was getting uncomfortable; for a corpse it sure held on hard.

The voice coming from it continued and Dante didn't dare to glance over and see if the jaws were actually moving, creaking like rusted machines or the voice was just coming out of the body without motion. He didn't feel like facing sockets filled with burned flesh and nothing but an empty, eternal gaze.

"She is at the Gate, reaching closer…She warned me...Now the Gate will be thrown open and the ones that were sealed away will walk through… The book is in the hands of others…the book will bring doom."

Then the corpse started to laugh hysterically and its laughter was shrieking and hollow, suited for the dead. For all his time dealing with the most fearful of sights with a cool head, Dante felt his hair stand on end. There were some times when demons just didn't hold a candle up to other, more terrifying things—the dead being one of them.

"That's quite enough now," Roy said hastily, recovering his composure and boldly grasping Dante's arm, calmly tugging him away from the corpse.

The laugh faded as if the person laughing was moving away down a corridor and the corpse slumped down on the table again, dissolving partially into a pile of charred bones and crisped flesh.

"What the hell was that?" Dante blurted, turning around to look at the debilitated corpse. "I thought you said she was dead."

"She _is_ dead," Roy said emphatically. "That was a _revenant_; just her powers and her bitterness lingering on and animating what little is left of her. She must've died very angry—at Tess more than likely and at herself for not realizing what was going on sooner. Poor wretch, I almost feel sorry for her."

Dante scoffed. "Huh. I guess that's one more reason to save the Twig's ass, I wouldn't want her haunting me or anything," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "What did she mean, talking about a Gate and all that? Was she saying that Tess is at the location of the same Gate you were talking about?"

"Most probably and it's a good thing we know where it is now. If Tess is going there now, or is already there, we might be wasting time, come on."

Roy started out of the room with Dante following him closely, drawing Ebony to shoot down a few more Abyss demons trying to creep up on them from the staircase as the followed it down this time. Roy took care of a few with some more strikes from his sand.

"The Gate is either inside, or under a small fortress, or castle at the edge of the old city. It's a few centuries old but the spot has always been associated with witchcraft, or devil worshiping," he explained while they ran down the hall. "It's so obvious that I completely overlooked it! It must be where Tess is heading now—if she's not there already!"

"For fuck's sake," Dante growled. "Why's it always a castle of some kind? Normal houses not good enough for them?"

As soon as they were out of the manor again, Roy stooped at the top of the stairs, looked up and inhaled through the nose slowly. "That's strange…there were plenty of demons here but now they're all gone."

Dante stopped a few steps below and shrugged. "We got all of them or scared them off, come on old man, quit being a worrywart."

Roy trudged down the steps. "You ever see any demon get 'scared' off? These things bailed off like something called."

"You think it's got to do with the Gate?"

"We'll know when we get there—eh, who's that?" Roy quipped, raising an eyebrow and looking over Dante's shoulder.

Dante turned over and then grinned. "Trish! Finally babe, what took you so long?"

Trish came up to them at a quick but calm pace from the ruins of the front gate. "I've got news for you, Dante and you're not gonna like it," she said.

Dante groaned while he and Roy went to meet her. "Bad news is all I've been getting today. How worse can it get?"

"Remember the demon I said snatched the Amulet? Guess what, it was Ricardo the whole time," she said dryly.

Roy's eyebrows bowed up. "Ricardo! So he is really here? He's supposed to be dead!"

Trish shrugged briefly. "That's what I heard, but instead he'd somehow managed to turn himself into some kinda demon."

"Been there, done that, why does everyone want to be a demon?" Dante said sarcastically.

Roy rubbed his chin a bit. "Well, I can see how he did it and I can't say I'm awfully surprised. For all his loose screws, Ricardo was a genius alchemist. It's usual practice to extract essence of life from humans or other life forms and use as a treatment to prolong one's life. He must've done the same with demons."

"He sure did a good job with it too, bastard nearly had us back there," Trish said, folding her arms. "I saw that redhead of yours there for some reason. Looked pretty banged up when I crashed his party."

Dante gulped. "You saw Tess?"

"Was she alright?" Roy cut in.

"She looked fine. That Ricardo guy was treating her before he went demon-pants on us, with a bad case of possessiveness. I haven't seen a guy take rejection so badly in years."

Then she eyed Dante. "He kept saying you did that to her," she said and raised an eyebrow.

Dante glanced away, angry at himself. "Not the time, Trish," he said.

"Did you speak with her?" Roy asked her.

Trish shrugged. "Not much, but Ricardo told me some pretty interesting things before he croaked it."

"Make it quick, we don't have a lot of time," Roy blurted.

"He told me Tess is being controlled by Vergil and she sure looked the part. She had a look like a scared cat and then ran off like she was being chased."

Roy and Dante looked at each other. "Just like you said it old man, she is being controlled," Dante said, then looked at Trish. "Did he say how?"

"Not really, he just said something about a witch seal and Tess kept grabbing her neck oddly—"

"The Witch's Seal!" Roy exclaimed, bringing his hand to his forehead and his eye widened. "Damn it, it makes perfect sense, why didn't I think of it earlier!"

Trish nodded. "Yeah, that's what he called it. He said that it wasn't letting her tell about it."

Roy grimaced. "Of course! The first thing he'd order her was to keep silent about being a slave even if her life depended on it!"

Dante cocked an eyebrow. "What the heck's that?"

"The Witch's Seal is _a wiccan_ way of controlling other witches! That's why it didn't occur to me, I was expecting demonic ways of control. Normally the Witch's Seal is used to punish criminal and arrogant wiccans who are humbled by being forced to serve others. But it's been abused in the past by witch-hunters who found its secret and used it against witches. Vergil must have some wiccan accomplice who did the rite for him!" Roy went on, looking more upset by the minute.

"Yeah? You'd think Vergil'd stop working with others ever since Arkham tried to one up him…" Dante sneered.

"Now that you mention it, Ricardo did mention somebody else," Trish said, glancing sideways and touching her chin. "Sasha, I think…"

"Hmm, that certainly rings a bell," Roy said. "If _she's_ really involved, I can see why Tess was dragged in. But I'll tell you on the way, come on, we've got to get to the castle before that ritual begins!"

"What ritual is this? Ricardo said it was some cleansing rite and that only Tess could pull it off—what's it all about?" Trish asked as Roy and Dante walked right past her and she followed right in their lead.

"I'll tell you on the way, babe. We got a witch to save," Dante said.

* * *

Returning felt like coming home, as disturbing as that thought was. She was back to where her master bade her but her stomach was upset with revulsion to herself. And yet, after everything that had happened, she didn't have the stamina to keep resisting. She almost wanted to just go through with Vergil's will just to get it over with, even though she knew that her chances of surviving were nil.

"_But do I have another choice? No. Dante can't help me now, it's far too late—and I don't want him to become involved anyway. I'd prefer he thinks I'm dead. I wish he leaves, just for once I wish he gets fed up and leaves… I don't want him caught in this. I actually wish he'd killed me back there. I can't do this, but I can't help it!" _

Tess felt her head ache like it never had before as she went up the steps of the castle and she felt unnaturally out of breath.

"_It's demonic power. It's so overwhelming...Just what has Vergil unleashed?"_ she thought, then gripped her neck again because the choker was strangling her.

"Welcome back," Vergil's icy voice bade her from the end of the staircase and his look was just as cold as he stared down at her. "There is work for you to finish. Follow me, now."

"Yes, Master."

Tess gulped and followed him, but she felt like it was just her body following the orders and she was watching from outside her body. The choker kept strangling her and only doing as told relieved the torture, making sure she obeyed just to stop the pain.

She followed him without talking to the great hall and through the already opened doors she could see that it was completely empty now and bare of any furnishing of decorations it had in the past. The only things present were a book stand with a book laying on it. She knew precisely which book was on it and had a vague idea of what Vergil wanted from her. All the way there she was being bombarded with disjointed and random images, thoughts and short visions invading her second sight. They were too fragmented for her to have a clear idea but piecing together what she knew about the Tome of Rites, Vergil and the history of the castle, she had a rough idea.

"_And then…there's that feeling I have every time I come here. Someone or something is watching me. Something…angry and hungering…"_ she thought.

Vergil forced her to walk over to the book and then he grasped her arm tightly and made her face him. "This book contains a ritual that releases all bonds, known as the Rite of Greater Release. Find it and perform it."

Tess gulped and gazed down at the book. She hesitantly opened it and felt a chill run down her spine. The book seemed to be emanating an even more menacing aura than before. She flicked through pages quickly, wondering how on earth she would manage to execute the Rite of Greater Release. She only knew that ritual as a kind of myth among wiccans and what was told of it was far from reassuring. It called upon powers so dangerous that they were virtually impossible to control and demanded great extent of power—power she was pretty sure she didn't really have. She kept going through pages, reading titles for rituals and spells that she didn't want to know about. Every single piece of witchcraft in that book was forbidden, for good reason.

"_This book was written by demons and corrupted wiccans. It's full of powerful witchcraft that just turns it's user into a power-hungry puppet. That's what happened to Regina,"_ she thought.

"Vergil," she said suddenly, making him glance at her piercingly. "I have to warn you, about this ritual."

Vergil resisted the urge to raise his eyebrow at her. _"Her? Warn me?"_ he thought. _"I hardly expect gratitude from her, but…"_ He narrowed his eyes. _"Her senses so far have outdone even Sasha's and I trust a complete slave more than that a corrupted witch."_

"Then out with it," he said sharply.

"You ought to watch your back. I know there is some other wiccan involved in this; you were given knowledge only a wiccan would know. Don't trust wiccans."

He got angry at her insolence. _"Is she warning me against Sasha?"_ he thought.

"Is that including yourself?" he asked slowly, resisting the urge to reach for his blade and cut her in two.

She just stared back, with an unafraid, calm gaze that nearly unsettled Vergil. "As long as I am your slave, I can't outright betray you. Besides, as much as you might hate it, you put me in your shoes. Which is why I have to tell you: This ritual you're asking me to do is dangerous. It can't be controlled like demonic rituals can. I can't guarantee whether it'll work or whether it'll fail, in which case we will both be obliterated."

"Then make sure it doesn't fail," he said sharply, staring at her with an angry look.

She returned the gaze, calmly and then looked down at the page of the ritual with a kind of quiet resignation. "I must create ritual circles. This could take some time so please, be patient."


	13. Chapter 12 Reckoning

**Note: **It's been a long time since I last updated. I apologize for that. For a long while I was honestly thinking of giving up on this, both due to a more hectic life and my steadily decreasing interest in DMC these days. I don't know if I can honestly call myself a fan anymore. What with the general stupid that seems to permeate most other fans (read: fangirls and gamers with absurd demands for gameplay changes that simply _won't work_) that is making me jaded, Capcom's increasing amount of sheer idiocy and passing the franchise to Ninja Theory who turn it into something just nasty (not to mention their utterly horrid attitude towards fans), I really think DMC as I -at the very least- knew and loved is over and it's time for me to move onto something else. But since I really honestly loathe leaving stories unfinished I'm going to try and finish this one with as much dignity as I can muster, regardless of how long it actually takes me to finish it. I want to especially apologize and thank my constant readers who maintain interest in this endeavor of mine. Your support has been invaluable to me.

* * *

**Chapter XII**

**The Reckoning**

By the time Tess was done forming the ritual circles required for the rite on the floor of the vast hall, it was nearly sunset and she was feeling so worn out from having to endure the punishing choker around her neck all the while, that she couldn't bear it any more. She was kneeling on the floor, trying to keep her hand steady as she scrawled the complicated runes between the circles with a chunk of white chalk. Her hands were dirty from the charcoal, the sulfur, the immaculate dirt (dirt that had never been cultivated before) and the salt that she had used to trace some of the circles and signs that would be needed. Her face had smudges where she had wiped perspiration off her skin.

And the Rite of Greater Release demanded a truly massive ritual site. It was about ten meters across on both dimensions, consisting of a multitude of circles: concentric ones, some interrupting the course of others, some placed in ways that put them at the corners of a square or triangle, containing other complex circles of runes, all of them made in chalk, charcoal, immaculate dirt, sulfur or salt.

But many were also traced by fire, since they demanded a pure creation and that usually meant a consecrated knife to carve them; fire, as one of the purifying essences itself, worked exactly the same. She was trying to finish one of the outermost circles when her hands started to falter. All the while, Vergil's icy gaze was fixed on her, silently terrifying her into working quickly and without stop.

What was worse though, was the book. She had to keep it open on her lap to copy the runes accurately and its weight was a constant reminder of what she was doing. The specter's words kept echoing in her head: _What evil comes out of this book will be your doing_. She had a feeling that this ritual would not come to a good end—neither for her, nor Vergil. But she did not tell him that. She couldn't find a reason why she should.

Vergil, leaning against the wall of the great hall and watching her with a tireless gaze, frowned a little, watching her pause every so often. Her arms shook and she had difficulty breathing. He admitted to himself that he allowed the choker to be that severe on her even now because he wanted her to be quick about it. He was anxious for this ritual to be done with; he wanted his former power back so he could be evenly matched with Dante when he would arrive at the scene; the confrontation between them was inevitable.

Every time their paths crossed, they were compelled to clash. He felt that they could never agree, come to some compromise that would allow them to forgo such conflicts between them. It was just impossible; their drastically opposite ways of thinking and acting would never permit any form of permanent truce between them.

Sasha had not shown herself at all since Tess arrived. Vergil suspected that she did not want to give the young witch any chance to realize her existence. Before Tess had arrived, Sasha had explained to him that she would be there, observing the process, but would not show herself. That got him thinking: Was Sasha _afraid_ of Tess, somehow?

"How much longer?" he asked her dryly.

"I'm nearly done," she replied tiredly. "If you…stop pressuring me with the seal, I'll be done sooner."

He silently consented to that idea. He allowed her _some_ more freedom. The sooner they got this started, the better. She felt the choker loosen a little and could work easier. She breathed in and scrawled the runes with more vigor. The burden of the book felt lighter, but only marginally. As much as she searched in herself, she couldn't find any shred of stamina or perseverance to resist at all. She couldn't find any point to doing so. She was too jaded to even get upset over the fact that Vergil had managed to break her spirit so irreparably. She didn't even dare think that she probably wouldn't mind dying.

"I'm done," she announced soon, standing up with the book in hand. She surveyed her work and gulped.

Vergil eyed the expanse of floor; with the removal of all the furniture by Sasha earlier, the hall looked even more massive. He wondered why wiccan rituals often required such a complexity of circles—this one in particular was on a scale that he hadn't imagined before. He had a rudimentary knowledge of wiccan activities and knew that each circle related to at least one of the powers invoked to participate in the ritual. What Tess had just completed had more circles, runes and symbols than anything he'd ever seen before and he quietly wondered whether she could really harness this much power.

Immediately his thoughts turned to how such power could be manipulated for his benefit, beside the ritual. He would have to circumvent Sasha, in some way. As he thought of that, he also brought up a thought that he had since the beginning of this 'endeavor': What exactly did Sasha stand to gain from this ritual? She professed it was freedom from binds of her own but he had always doubted that.

He watched Tess return the book to the stand in the middle of the ritual site and poring over it. He watched her bite her lip anxiously, her expression darkened from worry, fear and possibly, despair: Petty human emotions that were easily given away and showed weakness. If, he thought, Sasha was merely trying to escape from bonds of her own, he didn't care. But, if she had some additional agenda, he wanted to know he could deal with her. Sasha so far had only vaguely spoken of revenge and acquiring Tess' powers of Deep Sight, but what if there was more to that?

Tess' warning to not trust any wiccan had put doubt in him and he was contemplating on killing Sasha the moment this ritual was over. He didn't care what happened to Tess, as soon as he got what he wanted, his freedom and his powers; after that she was no longer useful to him.

"Are you ready for this, Vergil?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

He opened his eyes and stared at her, standing over the book and looking back at him with a strange gaze that he couldn't quite decipher. But he nodded and stepped forward.

"Begin," he told her.

Tess took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment.

"_This is the end of the line," _she thought. "_Whatever is to come is out of my hands. I can't foresee everything. I don't know what's going to happen if I do this ritual. I don't know what'll happen to me, or to Vergil—and I don't care, either. I can just…hope that Dante can fix this mess in case I can't."_

Overcoming her hesitation, she began to recite the first of many incantations listed in the book, summoning the powers required to execute it, both divinities and demonic powers. One by one, the multitude of circles began to react, lighting up or resonating with power. Her hands on either side of the book gripped a little tighter at the bookstand's edges as she sensed them and cold perspiration started to saturate her forehead.

She was scared. Bringing all these, largely unknown, powers together in such a drastic way to overcome powerful demonic bonds scared her. It would be like the clashing of two worlds with all the consequences. Surely, Vergil would easily handle that but what about her? Witch or not she was still a simple, fragile human being. She could very easily die.

"_I can't turn back now." _

Dante didn't need to have it pointed out to him that the fortified manor up ahead was their destination, behind its low wall, topped with a long line of tall metal spears jutting upwards, the whole structure making the building look imposing like a prison. His eye travelled up the solid stone walls and vaulted arches on the façade that enclosed darkened windows. It made the ruined coven's manor look small in comparison and it reminded him of the Order's headquarters in Fortuna—which he had gleefully watched self-destruct. Part of him hoped he could see this grand Renaissance fort go the same way.

The gray clouds swelling around over it were sign enough that it was the hotspot for all the demonic activity that was swarming in the city below. The population of the city was evacuating in a hurry in the onset of masses of demons trudging through the city. The whole situation felt like the worst déjà vu ever and almost clichéd but the electrifying atmosphere that he felt as they got closer reminded him that this wasn't a joking matter. Roy was in the lead, running faster than Dante had ever seen the old man run and Trish was following in tow.

"This remind you of anything?" she scoffed as the approached the gates.

"Sure does, babe," Dante said with a smirk. "Every time, the same old story…"

Roy interrupted what would've been a more scathing comment with a tirade of cursing.

"Blasted things are _everywhere_!" he groused, stopping in front of the gate, glaring at the expanse of neglected garden and grounds between the gate and the building.

Minor demons, sand based Prides and Sloths, Scarecrows, even some Abysses were rising up from everywhere to get in their way. They were rising out of the ground, walking out of small portals, clambering towards them from behind buildings, from shadows cast by trees and leaping down from the face of the massive building.

"Think they're gonna buy 'em some time, don't they?" Dante said sarcastically, drawing Ivory smoothly.

"Don't they always?" Trish chuckled, cracking her knuckles.

Roy was already taking down the gate—literally; he kicked it down with one mighty blow, bending and contorting the thick metal in a grunt of angry swearing that made Dante want to laugh. The more he saw the old djinn out of his mind with anger, the more it was evident to Dante that he really had never seen Roy this furious and that four years of being encased in stone had done little to dampen his energetic nature.

The smaller demons were short work for them but Dante was annoyed at the waste of time. "Hey old man! How 'bout I let you handle these small fries, eh? I'll go save our crazy redhead!" he called over to Roy, holding down an Abyss with its head under his foot and riddling it full of bullets.

A mass of sand enveloped a Scarecrow, stopping it in its tracks and practically disintegrating it violently, the loud sounds of shredded cloth and snapping limbs muffled by the grainy sound of sand grinding together and shuffling. "I suppose-" Roy grunted, sending an Abyss flying into the metal prongs of the fence, "I could hang with—"

A loud thunder erupted in the clouds overhead, making Roy look up suddenly, ignoring the minor demons still left. He looked downright alarmed. A hint of drizzle and some wind followed the thunderclap—as if to complete the clichéd atmosphere, Dante thought.

Suddenly Roy dove towards him or rather, made a mad dash, simultaneously tearing his glasses off his face, revealing a contorted expression of anger and rushed determination. He practically shoved Dante aside as he muttered a foul curse directed at—Dante felt a bit confused as Roy charged past him but then he saw it and his eyes widened a little.

A pale haze was swelling low, under the storm clouds, charging towards them like a wave gathering power to crash onto a cliff-side and it briefly lit up with lightning. Roy headed straight for it and at the last instant his form changed—engulfed in sand and then the massive form of the beast djinn that he was erupted out, going head to head with the haze, now rearing back like a snake raising its head and then dove forward at Abraxas with a drawn-out, gritty sound like a throaty hiss.

Abraxas grunted loudly, raising his front paws and skidded along the ground on his hind feet, trying to stop or gain footing as what looked like the head and long, snake-like neck of a dragon materialized from the haze, jaws gaping to meet the djinn head on. The impact of Abraxas' paw onto the head of the creature was joined by a hollow, thudding sound. Abraxas had swept the creature's head to the side with such force that it literally tumbled sideways and Abraxas had to turn his body to the side and skid on all four paws in order to stop.

Dante absently thought that it almost looked like a documentary on big cats—Abraxas had charged and tossed over that creature with a swipe exactly like a lion would've knocked over a running antelope or zebra. Only Abraxas' catch was a weird, dragon-like reptile that walked on four legs, had a lithe but muscular and winding long body and disproportionately long tail and neck—something like a skinnier and more ferocious long-neck dinosaur.

It's back glistened with smooth black and dark maroon scales, some of which were longer and stood upright like a frill along its back, its head was triangular like a wedge, topped with a series of horns that rose from over its eyes towards the back of the skull, progressively smaller and its mouth opened at an impossible angle to show a series of serrated, perfectly triangular teeth like steak-knives. It glared at Abraxas through poison-green, slit eyes and cracked its whip-like tail angrily, making shrill sounds and squirming like it wanted to attack Abraxas again, who was now in an equally threatening position right across it.

Dante relaxed a little and as Trish came up to him with an amused expression of the spectacle, he said: "Well, well, well! Big kitty gonna hog this to himself?"

Abraxas' tail flicked in annoyance but he didn't turn to look at him. "Damn right I am!" he snarled with a contorted muzzle. "I've been trying to lay my paws on this bastard for many years! And he's all mine!"

"You challenge me!" hissed the other creature, snapping its teeth at Abraxas while its neck writhed and swirled like a snake.

Abraxas' reply was a threatening roar. "Damn right I am, Semyazas! I knew you and your walking corpse of a master were here for some time. Now I've got you all to myself, haha!" Then he growled. "Dante, you and Trish go right ahead. I'm going to stay here and shove a thunderbolt up this ingrate's ass! Go find Tess!"

That reply made Dante laugh loudly and he returned his sword to its sheath on his back. "Well, fine by me old man! Just don't get eaten!" he called back and before he was even done, the two beasts charged at each other viciously.

Semyazas rammed into Abraxas, its whole body issuing lightning and the clouds overhead swirled harder and writhed with electricity, but Abraxas was not daunted. A sandstorm whipped up out of nowhere, following his body as he overpowered the reptile. Both went tumbling onto the side of the grounds around the manor, shaking the ground as they twisted and rolled about, snarling and roaring in a tangled mass of fury and savagery.

"Leave it to him," Dante said, starting towards the door of the place. "Come on, we gotta stop this stupidity before it goes too far," he added, beckoning Trish who followed him straight away.

He didn't have to stop or slow down; he just kicked the massive door of the entryway in, sending it flying straight into the faces of a small number of Abyss demons that were gathered in the lobby to 'welcome' them. He felt it as soon as they had entered: A Gate was somewhere nearby, he just knew it. For all he knew it could very well be that massive Gate Roy had talked about earlier. The few remaining Abysses were swiftly taken down by some careful shots and a swipe of the sword. He didn't want to waste time on playing around.

The surging of power that was running through the building was telling enough that _they had run out of time_.

"Trish, try to find that Gate, get rid of it!" he told her and to his relief, she read the rare tension in his tone and didn't question or tease him; she just agreed with a sharp nod and went off in one direction while he headed to the other, up the massive staircase that dominated the lobby and led up to the next floor.

He could feel it and it actually made his eyes widen again. Something was very wrong and even as he cut down the feeble demons that tried in vain to block his way, he was dead certain that Vergil was there and the huge amounts of power that were beyond a definite placing—neither just demonic nor whatever else Vergil had managed to bring into this world—were just increasing.

"_What the hell's he doing?" _he thought as he reached a set of double doors. They were left open just barely and from the slim opening and the gap between the floor and the doors, he could see a foreboding, eerie light.

But, determined to face it calmly, he took a deep breath before he shoved the doors open. He wanted to be calm about it rather than jumping the gun and swaggering in, because it wasn't like his usual jobs, where he had only to worry about getting rid of demons. This time, it was Tess' life that was on the line and he had put her in enough danger for one day.

Still, his attempts to keep his head cool didn't help because when the doors swung open and he could see the full effect of what was happening in that room, he just wasn't ready for that sight.

The moment he opened those doors it was as if a wave of air was rushing into the room from behind him, like the room was sucking everything into itself and his coat billowed inwards. The large, tall room was eerily illuminated from a light that was coming from the middle, near the floor. It was mostly white or light blue and it seemed to come from all over the floor—or rather from circles, dozens of them, traced on the floor. They all lit up individually, their lights fluctuating like a lightshow and casting strange shadows on the walls.

Simultaneously, the room was _shuddering_ as if it was revolted or terrified of what was going on within its walls. Everything was rumbling—faintly, but still enough to give the room the unsettling sensation of being alive. Dante gulped without realizing. The energy he could feel emanating from the circles, oozing into the air—quite literally stifling the room with powers that even he couldn't fully comprehend. Demonic powers were involved, surely, because he could feel those, but they were just a portion of it all. The overwhelming amount of power crammed in that room was making him feel uneasy.

In the madness of the whole incident, Dante saw something in particular that made him gape a little. Vergil was there but completely out of character, he was not observing the whole thing with even the remotest look of satisfaction or cold detachment. He had backed up near the walls lined with tall elegant windows, now reflecting the ever-changing lights and had an expression of genuine surprise on his face, evident by his slightly open mouth and wide, staring eyes. It seemed that even Vergil had not anticipated the magnitude of the ritual he had set off and Dante really couldn't remember seeing that kind of expression on his face before.

But what made his heart jump to his throat (and few things ever did that anymore) was the epicenter of the whole ordeal: There she was, standing–barely—in the middle of the circles in front of an ornate bookstand carrying the book he had seen her clutch earlier when he shot her; the same book that Vergil had so arrogantly picked up from beside her fallen form, not caring if she lived or died. Tess had her hands on the book and her head was thrown back as if she wanted to pull away, but could not. Her face was frozen in an expression of horror, her eyes peeled wide and her mouth half-open in a silent scream.

Dante wanted to call out to her but he had no idea what effect doing so might have on the ritual; as far as he knew, witchcraft demanded extensive concentration and if he distracted her...it could be bad. He could scarcely see Tess properly due to all the light that flooded the room, but he could see enough to tell she wasn't doing well. Whatever that light and energy was it was doing something to her. He could see the anguish on her face and when the 'wind' created by the flooding energy made her skirt flutter he saw the failing of her knees; she was about to fall.

And then Vergil noticed him too and the two of them exchanged a long look with a mixture of feelings, predominantly anger, extreme annoyance—and confusion. Vergil brought his hand to the hilt of his sword and Dante mimicked him. But neither could give away any indication of knowing what was happening.

Suddenly Tess gave a gasp, like she was choking and crumbled to her knees, her hands dropping to her sides and her head hanging on her chest. The light lessened but the energy coming off from the circles and the shuddering of the room did not stop. But it did get quieter.

Vergil looked back at Tess expectantly and Dante's gaze was directed at her as well. She wasn't moving. Dante stared at Vergil again, who returned the gaze and his fist clenched angrily as a variety of strange and mostly unpleasant ideas about what was going on went through his head. All he could do was stare at Vergil with a frigid look while feeling his blood almost boiling up in anger.

"Vergil…up to your age-old games as usual, I see," he growled. "You just had to involve her in this, didn't you? Is this your idea of getting back at me?"

Vergil just stared back at him and his gaze looked sarcastic. "This was just convenient," he replied with a dry, unfeeling tone. "If this is what it takes, I'll do it."

"Go fuck yourself," Dante spat back sternly without realizing but then both of them whipped around abruptly to look towards her again.

Tess was standing up, slowly rising back to her feet but as she did, it looked like someone else was standing up with her. It literally was as though her form was being incorporated in the form of someone else who was appearing over her, like a sheet wrapping around her. The form that stood up had trailing, gnarled black hair and wore gray and creamy robes, dirty and tattered. She also seemed to be taller and bulkier than Tess.

It was definitely a female that was taking over Tess—because that's what had to be happening—and when she raised her head at last, the woman had horribly pale and haggard skin riddled with extensive, dark tattoos of Celtic floral origin, carefully designed to look like a mask. Dante stared; any beauty she ever possessed had long been robbed from her, leaving behind a bitter and harsh expression and piercing green eyes with nothing but loathing in them—eyes eerily like Tess'.

Dante gulped because he could still see Tess underneath the form of the stranger, if only barely. The woman stared at both of them with a strange gaze and then smirked. It was a very satisfied and at the same time, bitter and angry smirk, like someone who had finally come to the point of achieving something after a very long, arduous journey. The kind of expression you'd expect from a real evil witch from a fairy tale. By now Tess' form was just barely visible under the woman. She took a slow, deliberate step forward and the circles reacted, resonating a little more intensely under her soft footfall. She raised her hand and looked at it; it was thin and pale and covered in tattoos just like her face. She seemed to be inspecting the possession and she looked very satisfied.

Then she stared right at them again and her gaze just stopped them cold. Dante felt himself gulping a bit; there was something incredibly unnerving and forceful in the way she stared at them, projecting some kind of power of suggestion that compelled both to stay still. It reminded Dante a bit of the way Magda used to glare, but this was beyond comparison.

"The game is now afoot," she finally said in a hoarse, cracked voice—a double voice, as Dante could barely hear Tess' dull voice with it. The woman sounded as if she had done an awful lot of screaming that had aged her voice beyond her apparent years—she can't have been older than her late thirties and yet her voice had the sound of a withered and very bitter old woman.

It made Dante think that she must have been through some kind of lengthy torture. There was no doubt she was a witch and he could put two and two together. This was a very old entity, around when witches were persecuted and tortured until they were broken shells of humans; she had endured and she was back from the grave, still retaining the power to halt a demon—or half-demon—in their tracks. A wiccan doesn't pull such a stunt without having power enough to make the world turn to their whims, Dante thought as much.

She raised her hand, holding her index finger up, near her lips, as if motioning them to stay silent. "Humans, demons…we all are pawns at the hands of fate. Time changes nothing. Some demand power, some demand revenge and some just want to see the world perish in the shades of Hell."

Her almost morbidly cheery little rant had a sobering effect on the twins, shaking them out of their surprise and shock. Vergil in particular looked angry and very impatient. This was not what he'd expected. Dante watched him seethe quietly and knew that he was reminded of the fiasco of Temen-Ni-Gru.

"Enough of your prattle!" he said sharply, straightening up, his hand on the hilt of Yamato and the woman looked right at him. "I don't care who you are, but this is not your place. Leave now."

"Silence!" she spat back at him, jerking her hand sideways and her eyes widening in an indignant, mad expression. "You have trod in the realm of witchcraft, child of Sparda, you are in _my_ domain. You will hold your tongue!"

Dante raised an eyebrow. Vergil actually looked a touch taken aback from her boldness—but it might have been the power of her gaze. He could read it in his brother's countenance that he was angry and determined to shake off this inconvenience to his plan. Vergil was used to getting his way and he was not going to let something as trifling as a ghost possession to interrupt the ritual that would dissolve his last ties to Mundus.

And he watched Vergil step closer to the witch, sword drawn, "You do not belong here—"

This time the woman's response was much more radical. She kept staring at him and suddenly she moved, too fast for even their eyes to follow. Vergil found himself staring at her right in the eye, her hand on his chest.

"Your power and your heritage have no sway on me. You have no power over _the dead_, child," she said wickedly and Dante's jaw dropped a bit as Vergil was knocked backwards without warning, as if a blow of tremendous power had been thrust into his chest.

He was crushed back first against a wall, limbs seemingly paralyzed and the expression on his face reminded him of the time when, back in Temen-Ni-Gru, Arkham had pulled a similar stunt on them. But this woman hadn't just pushed him away; she must have wounded him somehow, or severely weakened him because he slumped to the ground on a knee and clutching at his chest. Dante forced concern away; he was too angry at Vergil at that moment and he didn't want to care whether his sibling was in pain or not.

"You called me here, after all," the woman said to him coolly. "I _am_ your liberation; we are bound by the ritual. But you will be released when _I_ say so. Not sooner, not later."

"_She's insane. I have no idea who she is—but she's batshit crazy, for real,"_ Dante thought. "_She's got that look in the eye. I've gotta get the Twig outta this!"_

As if she read his thoughts, the woman turned to him, jerking her hand out and pointing at him accusingly. "And you!" she laughed. "Do not think you are irrelevant to this game, fool. You can have no demands of me, either. The wretch is but a pawn in this game as much as you are. And useless pawns are ripe to be expelled from the game if needed."

Dante tightened his fist. There was no messing around with her. "Do whatever you want, lady, I just want to get Tess outta this."

She laughed bitterly. "That is not up to you."

He didn't respond. He decided he'd rather not be pinned to a wall like Vergil when every second could count in saving Tess and this woman clearly did not seem to care whether Tess lived or died.

"But we are missing one last player," she said with a widening, angry smile. She suddenly stepped back into the room, throwing her head back and spreading her arms, making a sort of twirl, her sleeves and robes swirling. "Where are you, sister!" she shrieked. "I know you're here, watching! Come out, dear sister!"

Vergil looked up and through is contorted expression a glimmer of realization lit his face. He finally realized what Sasha had done.

"I said, come _here_!" The woman thrust her arm upwards, palm open, then grasped at an invisible force and gestured as though she were violently pulling something down.

Another shriek clamored through the large room and what looked like a mass of dust and ash gritted down from the ceiling carrying with it a large lump that looked like dark rags. It hit the floor with a hollow thud and shrieked curses in some old, forgotten language. Vergil frowned as he watched Sasha shrink away from the woman with an almost revolted haste.

"_Who the hell is that?" _Dante thought, watching the strange, gaunt creature in the black robes shuffling back and glaring at the woman with a piercing yellow gaze.

"Whore! Ingrate!" Sasha hissed. "You return from the grave! Impossible! You have played me false, Selene!"

"_These two are sisters?"_ Dante thought in shock. "_And I thought Vergil and me were a sad excuse of family."_

Selene, as the woman's name came to be, kept smiling with a wicked satisfaction. "I, played you false, Sasha? My _dear sister_," she said sweetly, "I merely played _your_ game. Was it not you who intended to use the Rite of Greater Release to rid yourself of my curse, keeping you in this pathetic state? I know everything," she went on with a deeply mocking tone that made Sasha reel back and howl in indignation.

"I know your machinations sister! I knew them ages past, before you fully comprehended them yourself!" Selene said forcefully. "You think my gift of sight was any lesser than yours? I knew everything you would do! You arranged to have the Tome change countless hands over the years; you made sure its keepers would find it impossible to resist its secrets! You were ready to play false the entire wiccan world to achieve your ends! You needed a bastard bloodline, to perform the rite for you and to your detriment, you chose mine. You led the demons to the fire-spawn and when he was man enough you encouraged him to abandon his masters. You saw to it that a child was conceived of his seed, one that would suit your ends. You brought her here and you found the ideal fool that would enslave her because your powerless hands couldn't touch her! _I. Knew. Everything!_"

Selene laughed hysterically for a moment and then hushed. "I knew you would bring things exactly as they are now. And I interfered. I changed the Rite, I rewrote it, made it so that whoever cast it brought _me_ here, from the dead, to perform it for you, _dear sister_!"

Sasha was cursing and swearing, spouting frightful curses and threats at her more composed sister who kept on relating the entire plan and Dante was quite horrified to realize that they had all been played fools by these two, in a game that stretched far back in time. Tess' very existence was part of a game of cat-and-mouse over the centuries and her troubles were nothing but its culmination. He had thought it was bad enough that she had been caught between him and Vergil but this? He didn't even dare get between them—yet—concerned it might go out of control.

"I changed the Rite," Selene gloated. "It brought me back from the grave—_a grave you sent me to!_—to deal with you, dear sister. You wish your release from the bonds that keep you in a frail, weak state…and so you shall."

At that point Sasha scoffed loudly. "Insufferable harridan," she hissed vehemently. "So you have risen from your death, what of it! You are but a ghost, a shadow—a formless shell! You cannot take a step in this world outside that woman and she can die just as easily as a snap of these fingers!" she raged, flailing her arms up angrily. "You have no power in this world bar what the Rite has given you and you are still bound to release those that summoned you for it! Once I'm free of this pathetic mortal coil you gave me, I'll send you right back to the maggots!"

"We both belong to the maggots, Sasha," Selene said coolly, raising her hand and bringing her index finger to her lips. "But yes…let me fulfill what I was brought here for and then…then it will just be you and me again."

She turned to Vergil. "Have patience Vergil, I will set forth the final stage of this ritual shortly. You," she said, eying Dante, "will bear witness to the rites."

Bewildered as much as he was satisfied, Vergil stood up and Dante felt the overwhelming urge to crash the whole thing and cut Vergil down then and there but the way this Selene woman had glared at him spoke volumes; Tess' fate hung by his conduct and for once in his life, he made the choice to stand down and let the events unfold. There was bound to be some kind of loophole, something he could exploit to save Tess.

Sasha appeared to ne barely holding herself back from lunging at Selene and actually looked intimidated. Her sister nonchalantly turned her back to them and faced Vergil, raising her hand and then suddenly touching him warmly on the shoulder, like a friend, much to his surprise.

"Before this ritual can be completed, you must kneel…and you shall not have thoughts of using these powers for yourself. Brace yourself, for this will be hard on you, child of Sparda," she said with a strange smile.

Dante glanced down then and noticed how the circles and symbols on the ground were glowing with energy that flowed from one to the other in a white to red pattern that didn't look exactly benevolent. Sparks flew from them, as if the energy was trying to break out of those constraints and the room was trembling again.

His eyes shot back at Vergil, who had tensed, arching his neck back as if in pain, gritting his teeth with a painful-looking grimace etched on his face. His entire body was tense and he started faltering as if bearing a huge load on his shoulders, while Selene's hand was still serenely on him. She was staring at Vergil and chanting something in quick and quiet tones, probably that only she and Vergil could hear. The signs directly under Vergil's feet were now bursting with loose energy that was overflowing, sparking angrily—Vergil was obviously resisting. Just from the way the air in the room felt, Dante knew it was a mixture of demonic and possibly, wiccan powers at work. It was a very dangerous, unstable mix too, if the way the room was shuddering was any indication, with dust falling from the ceiling and walls grinding in effort to contain this energy.

Dante gulped without realizing he did, staring with eyes widened._ "Roy was right. Whatever this ritual is…the powers it's using are off the scale. I don't think I've ever felt anything this powerful, except maybe Mundus but he was just one. This thing feels like there's dozen of different forces at work!"_

And then, impossibly, he saw Vergil drop to a knee, shaking from—as far as he could see—pain. Vergil dropped to a knee with a grunt, Selene still standing over him and looking down blankly. He stayed like that, one hand gripping at his knee in frustration as he glared up at Selene, the other hand bracing himself against the floor, the energies from the signs of the ritual rising in small flames and licking his hand and legs.

His head sank low and Dante could hear strained breathing. "_What the hell is she doing to him!" _

Selene calmly moved away from him as glimpses of his demonic side flared up for splits of a second, like static on a TV screen. The ghost of the witch waltzed past, towards Sasha, who had cowered back in shock.

"As I said. You are the witness for this rite, Dante," she said in her hoarse but oddly seductive voice. "And nothing but a witness you are, to these great powers. You are troubled, yes but soon all will become clear," she went on, raising her hand with her index finger extended as she walked up to Sasha. "Sister, now it is your turn. To be free is what you want, yes? I will give you freedom; I am bound by rite to do so."

Sasha glared knives back at her sister from under her miserable hood, hissing idle curses at her as Selene walked up to her.

"I put a curse on you, when I knew you would have me dead. I cursed you to be weak, frail and burdened by the infernal powers you so craved. I cursed you to be nothing here, in the land of humans because you are not wanted. I cursed you to be dependent on your master, a slave of his own delusions, slumbering in the pits of Hell with no care. Like him you are a shadow of yourself. Now I will lift the curse and give you what you want," Selene said, closing in to Sasha.

The circles underfoot now changed. Their lines broke and realigned…somehow. They twisted and straightened, converging toward the two sisters. Sasha made an attempt to pull away from her but she hit upon an invisible wall that seemed to form along the newly created lines on the floor. The lines converged, forming new circles and new shapes. A larger circle with concentric ones in it etched itself on the floor with smaller ones around it and they all pulsated and resonated.

Dante was still fixated on the spot, with Vergil still on the floor between him and the sisters, the real instigators of this drama.

"_What the hell have these two insane witches started?"_ he thought.


	14. Chapter 13 Selene

**Author's Note: **Finally able to update with a chapter that I'm pleased with. I'll not repeat my usual apologies for tardiness. I hope you understand that I'm trying to deliver as good a story as I can manage. I'd like to say something though. I understand I can never possibly please everybody with this story, but I would like to answer to people who say that I'm not keeping the spirit of DMC, or the type of story DMC had in this fic. That may well be true, but I'd like you to understand something. While I love DMC as a series to pieces, I want to see it evolve. Not the way Capcom thinks it should evolve, and certainly not Ninja Theory's idea (although I'll still give it a fighting chance). The point here is, I can't write this story the same way the games are written. It's an inevitability, because I'm a writer and not a game script developer. So I give Dante a more human, emotionally varied and slightly flawed side in this story. Sue me for wanting to bring more to this character than dry power and lack of faults. Or not, and just enjoy the story, for christsake.

Oh yeah, and one more thing... I got some pretty weird comments a while back that make me wonder. Where the eff do you people see evidence that I'm claiming Vergil's got a thing for Tess? No, seriously-where the hell did I ever say something like that? I'm honestly confused. Please stop seeing shipping at every turn, it's getting creepy.

* * *

**Chapter XIII**

**Selene**

Abraxas panted through flaring nostrils as electricity crackled over his hide, sizzling small sores already scorched into his skin from his quarry. Semyazas, once a djinn that was the very embodiment of the power of thunderstorms, turned to evil's champion out of selfishness, was in his grasp. Semyazas was thrashing under his paws, shrieking and flailing its claws, striking Abraxas with its tail and discharging electrical shocks but the leonine sandstorm lord would not relent. His hold on Semyazas was just tightening, his jaws closing harder around the long serpent's neck, crushing bone, tissue, blood vessels and air pipes alike, squeezing the life out of the evil familiar. He kept it pinned down with his front paws, his hind legs latched on the serpent's back. The serpent's claws were cutting air, as Abraxas had taken care to grip the serpent's body from above before they fell and tumbled into their current position, pinning it on its side to avoid its claws.

Semyazas shrieked again, trying to escape by turning into a cloud-like form but Abraxas held it fast, while enveloping them both in a sandstorm that trapped both creatures. It acted like a barrier, keeping their cosmic battle separate from the world and Semyazas from escaping. The evil creature was forced back into a solid form and shrieked.

Semyazas' thrashing suddenly got stronger and it actually succeeded in making Abraxas very nearly lose his grip. The djinn tensed his claws, digging them deeper into the scales of the serpent as the abrupt weight shift dragged them both to the side briefly. Like a hunting cat on prey, Abraxas growled and stubbornly bit down harder as the shrieks got louder and then suddenly the serpent started to choke and get rasp. Finally there was a dull cracking sound and Semyazas' last screech was more of an ugly croak.

Abraxas held down fast even as Semyazas' body relaxed and slumped. He let go slowly and watched approvingly as the body of the serpent started to erode rapidly into loose energy and dissipating into the air just as Abraxas' sandstorm died down. The rain coming down from the storm overhead was not stopping. He exhaled harshly, still breathing deeply; he was quite badly hurt and grunted every time he tried to put weight on his left hind leg. Electrocution burns, bites and claw marks riddled his body and every breath brought a wheezing that might mean a punctured lung; nothing an old warrior like him couldn't handle.

He eyed up the dissolving body and bared his teeth again. "Bastard…" he grunted, limping closer to the manor.

He suddenly stopped and as he looked straight up at the upper floor of the building his ears pricked up. He ruffled up his mane suddenly and winced in realization. "Good God…It can't be!"

He rushed forward, as fast as he could and as he closed in, he shrank down to human form in a flurry of dissipating sand and bolted through the gapping entrance as fast as his limping leg allowed. The inside of the building was a grandiose mess: Having obviously enjoyed careful restoration and preservation up till now, the interior was now littered with blood and disintegrating bodies of demons, bits of plaster crumbling off the ceiling and bits of larger debris strewn on the floor. The whole building was shaking.

"_What are they doing?"_ Roy thought. _"This isn't right; this isn't how the Rite is supposed to be!"_

He raced up the same stairs that Dante had only minutes earlier passed and came to the same double doors, driven by the same sensation like a dog following a scent. Like Dante, he too stopped in awe at the condition of the room, though his experience had prepared him for a worst case scenario.

"_Oh __no…"_

A gate to the Underworld had been opened on the back wall of the large hall, in such a way that it was spanning both vertical and horizontal planes. It was giving off a nauseating amount of demonic energy. And yet, paradoxically there were the signs of a wiccan circle around the unstable gate and suddenly it all made sense: The dozens of smaller gates around the city had been powering this ritual, which produced the gate.

He was most unsettled by the sight of two women standing at the very edge of the gate, though he had anticipated it. He recognized Sasha, the black sheep and greatest scourge of the Templar family, a devil witch shriveled to a largely powerless husk by the will of her sister. She was crawling on the floor, overcome by the woman towering over her; it had to be Selene, the mother of the Templar line, standing over her sister with the same ruthless determination that had left her mark in the history of the family. Roy bit his lip nervously, feeling his hair standing on end. She was back from the grave, possessing Tess somehow and channeling all this mismatched power in a dangerous way.

The stories of her madness had to be real.

He glanced at Dante, standing at a distance from the scene of the two witches' battle of wills. Dante met his eye and the djinn felt amazement at the question in Dante's eyes, _'what now?'_ Roy shook his head at him briskly, telling him to stay put. Dante quietly directed Roy's gaze towards whom the djinn could safely assume was Vergil, who was only just getting back to his feet, evidently in pain but still looking pleased. Roy looked back at Dante and shook his head again.

"_Wait, Dante…have patience. __Beaten up as I am, I can't do anything now, so it's your call. Just wait…"_ the djinn thought and gulped.

"It's over Sasha," Selene said calmly, as the contest of curses and spells came to a stop.

"What are you doing!" Sasha howled angrily, eying the gate to the Underworld with uncertainty.

"This ritual is drawing at an end," the other replied with a malevolent sweetness. "I will unbind what I have placed on you…but you will have to find the power you want elsewhere. I now wash my hands of you, sister."

She held up her arms. "Ancient gods! Forces of the Underworld! You bear witness to these rites; rites meant to shatter the boundaries of time and space, reshape what you have decreed to be! What you have set to be unchanging and decided will be changed as you converge," she declared loudly.

That comment suddenly made an idea click in Dante's head. He looked at the circles on the floor again and back at the Gate. The circles on the floor must act like Gates—but to powers far different than demonic ones. That was probably why Selene needed to open a Gate in the first place. He wondered just how bad it would get with that crazy woman bringing together so much demonic and wiccan power.

"Steady now…" he heard Roy mutter at last, closely behind him. "Any interruption in this phase could be catastrophic! We're too late! We have to wait and watch. If we just crash the rite right now…neither of us may be able to stop the consequences!"

The room shuddered again and bits of plaster and dust trickled down from the support beams above. Dante felt that waiting now was next to agonizing; he hadn't felt this powerless and unable to interfere in many years.

The symbols directly under Selene's feet lit up brighter and she laughed. "Ah yes, I was almost distracted. This needs to go before I can complete the ritual," she said, stroking her neck softly, fingers passing over the choker that was still visible on her as it had been on Tess. She glanced at Vergil who glared knives at her and grit his teeth, still forced to kneel.

"No matter, I can take it off. You won't be needing it anymore," Selene said in a tone that made Dante's stomach clench in a knot; he really didn't like that crazed look on her face.

Selene grazed the choker with her finger and hissed when it quite visibly tightened around her neck like a noose, resisting the removal. She persisted and with a frustrated grimace dug her finger between the material and her skin. She grunted as the choker tightened more but she managed to hook two fingers into the choker, then another, until she had a good grip on it. The choker was now showing to be more than a simple piece of cloth; it glistened with red iridescence and crackled with energy.

Selene winced evidently and grunted while Tess screamed; it was such an obvious difference that they seemed to separate briefly as Tess' agonizing shriek of pain was clearly audible as her own rather than Selene's, and the extreme tension of her body seemed to split them apart before Selene regained control. Dante gritted his teeth at Roy's gentle but steady hand grasping his arm to prevent him from trying to stop her.

Dante felt his skin crawl and tightened his fist when Selene simply _tore_ the choker off her neck with a hair-rising, fleshy sound and spurts of blood. Roy groaned behind him and Dante could actually picture the anguished look on the old man's face. Selene was holding the choker in her hand and Dante shuddered a little to notice chunks of skin still attached to it, dripping blood. Selene looked at the blood streaming from her neck to the floor with a cold, unfeeling look. Then she dropped the choker onto the floor like it was a piece of garbage.

"Now we may begin," she said coldly and Sasha, pinned to the floor by the circles glowered at her viciously.

Without further ceremony, Selene outstretched her arms and all hell broke loose at her command. The circles on the floor went wild with energy, letting out vicious light and energy bursts; the Gate started spewing even more demonic essence. The concentrated energies began converging on Selene in a hurricane of light and Dante felt the friction of air being pulled towards her as well, dragged along by the power. For all the impressive light work, it was evident to Dante that what was happening was anything but an innocent unbinding ritual. The room kept shaking and the walls and ceiling started showing cracks; bits of debris started tumbling down walls and from the ceiling as the energies at work were no longer possible to contain. The glass windows all shattered in a crescendo of cracks, exploding outwards from the force.

In fact, it got so bad that both Dante and Roy were overwhelmed and had to drop to their knees—and it just served to make Dante really pissed off. Helplessness really irritated him, especially knowing that he mustn't fight it.

"We offer the blood, the life to conduct this ritual. We enter a contract with thee, powers here converging," Selene recited in a solemn manner, her voice booming over the chaos unnaturally, as the energy billowing together caused her hair and robes to flutter. "A contract to unravel the binds of these present. A contract to unwind the world."

Even so, Dante could see that Vergil grunted as an invisible forced seized his arm and despite his determined resistance, yanked him forward on his face, with his arm outstretched, his hand facing up. Sasha shrieked more curses as she was subjected to the same ordeal. Selene solemnly pointed an outstretched index finger at each of them in turn and by yet another invisible force, their wrists were cut, making blood spurt up onto the respective circles that Selene's ritual was tracing beneath them. The circles were connecting to another series of circles at the center of which Selene stood. The blood of all three soaked into the lines and suddenly, the entire complex of circles, symbols and runes were burned deeply onto the floor by dark, flame-like energy.

She faced Vergil first. "You, bound by dishonor and arrogance to serve another; I command the forces here gathered to unbind thee, by offering of blood, to release thee of your bonds. No longer will you serve another, but tread the world by your own free will. No longer will you bear the marks of your servitude, but carve a new existence of yourself, she said dryly. "You are now released of your bonds!"

Dante watched as the circles around Vergil trembled as power surged and concentrated. Still pinned to the floor face down, Vergil suddenly tensed and shuddered in pain. His clenched fists were white at the knuckles and Dante could plainly see Vergil was in agony but unable or unwilling to unclamp his jaw and shout. He just lay there, tense and barely moving, drawing deep breaths until he finally rolled on his back and his back arched up from the painful tension while he shouted in agony. His demonic form, clear of any influence of his Nelo Angelo past erupted into view faintly before disappearing, to show up again for a split second and then vanish once more.

With a sudden rush of voices, a sort of faint projection of him, made of dull-colored energy was wrenched out of him by an invisible force and dissipated into nothing as he relaxed. Vergil panted, covered in sweat, and let a surprised gasp. From his expression, Dante figured he'd been prepared for an intense experience, but not quite so painful. His face remained tensed in an expression that Dante could only interpret as aching, but his skin was now free of any marks that would indicate he had once been Nelo Angelo.

He watched Vergil exhale softly, as if life was rushing through him again after years. He looked dazed and he must've been amazingly sore, but he seemed strangely relieved. Dante saw him tighten his fist confidently and grip at his sword, still on the floor by his side. It seemed to react to him, alive and responsive to his power and Dante knew that look on his face: He felt _strong_ again. But at the same time, he was still pinned to the floor by some force. The ritual was not over.

Selene turned around to face Sasha, who was struggling on the floor, swearing and cursing her sister. They exchanged a long look of intense dislike and malevolence.

"You brought this upon yourself, Sasha," Selene said suddenly.

"I made a choice!" the other hissed. "You were too weak and scared to choose. You took the offer when it suited you, but when you had your revenge you thought that the power of demons was not meant for you. Is that where your hypocrisy will go? You deny that you too have given in to the powers of the Underworld!"

Dante raised an eyebrow. Sasha was implying that Selene had also been dabbling with demons. On their way there, Roy had time to give him an idea of who Sasha was and why she wanted the ritual done. From what he was told it had sounded pretty clear cut that Sasha was the only one to indulge in making deals with demons and acquiring their power. He looked back on to when he and Tess were kids; she had very adamantly stated her family had never been involved with demons. She couldn't have been lying about that and Roy seemed as genuinely shocked at the revelation as he was to see Roy look that flabbergasted.

Selene just stared back at her sister coldly. "No," she said dryly. "I will not deny it."

The powers amassed in the room seemed to settle briefly, as if Selene herself had come to her senses and gained proper control over them. "I will not deny that I too was at the verge of your choice, sister," she said. "Father had to be punished for his abominable actions, mother had to be avenged. And I would not sully the powers we were trusted with for such a base desire as revenge."

Sasha laughed sarcastically. "You always liked your little 'holier than thou' excuses…" she scoffed. "You were too _weak_ to accept this power!"

"I was strong enough to see what it would turn me into and resist. I allowed myself to fall once, for revenge. I ruined myself for the satisfaction of vengeance. I was mistaken. We both were," Selene countered calmly.

Sasha laughed again, this time almost hysterically. "How amusing. And which of us is _dead_, dear sister? Which of us is forced to drag herself out of the grave and possess another to just be able to talk!"

Selene smiled sinisterly. "At least I can still conduct a ritual even in this state. Had it been you, you would have trouble even speaking, you old, maggot-riddled wreck."

A scoff escaped Dante at the sisterly banter. And he thought that he and Vergil were bad.

"You talk of resisting, you whore, but you would deny me my power—the power I had _earned_. How did it feel to render your sister a powerless husk, tossed about the tides in the Underworld? How did it feel to curse your own sister into misery?" Sasha hissed at her.

Selene laughed at the accusations. "Why don't you tell me how it felt to take advantage of your sister's weakness after preventing you from running wild? What was it like to hand your sister over to butchering, persecuting dogs?" she countered with a vicious delight. "Did you laugh while I screamed and begged them to stop? Did you triumph when they finally showed some mercy and _hanged me_, broken as I was?"

Their angry exchanges told their story more elaborately than any narrator could. Dante eyed Roy; the djinn had hunched over and shook his head sadly, bringing one hand to his graying head. He looked very surprised. He seemed to catch Dante's glance at him and looked up. His eye was peeled wide and wild and he shook his head at Dante's silent question.

"I didn't know anything of this. Poor, deluded fools; both of them," he said simply.

Sasha was cackling sarcastically. "You were perfectly entertaining sister. Perfectly entertaining," she said. "Now get it over with! Finish the ritual so that we can face each other again, properly this time, and I'll show you just how stupid you've always been!"

Selene bore with the cursing silently and shook her head with a teasing smirk. "Very well, sister. I shall indulge you."

She raised her arms in a twisted parody of a prayer. "You, bound by disgrace and greed, your powers sealed by mine own will; I command the forces here gathered to unbind thee, by offering of blood, to release thee of your bonds. I release you of my wrath, sister; to give you leave of your powers as you please. You are released."

No sooner had she completed the sentence, the circles traced round Sasha by her sister's ritual crackled to life with power, making the room shudder once again, with a force that made the previous outbursts pale in comparison. The room shuddered once again, so hard that Dante could hear the cracks creeping up the walls and eyed the ceiling, expecting it to come crashing down at any moment. Then he looked at the open Gate, still expelling copious amounts of demonic power—but oddly no demon had so much as peeped through.

Roy caught him looking. "It's Selene. She's holding them back," he groused. "She keeps using Tess to channel all this power, it's not going to be good for her!"

Dante cringed. "If I knew it'd help, I'd get in there and yank her out…"

"You'll get your chance…but not yet. Better not to get in the face of a mad and _dead _witch. This is all we can do—it's a waiting game, I know it's driving you crazy, but wait a little longer!"

Dante found that very hard to believe and he practically shivered from anxiety to get in there and _do _something. Sasha, still prone on the ground, was trapped by the circles, thrashing and screaming as tension gripped her form. She howled like a wounded animal, sounding unnervingly like a giant reptile in its last throes of life. Selene was observing her calmly as she braced against the floor slowly, expelling what could only be described as corrupt energy in large, red swaths. Spasms ripped through her form and she buckled backwards onto her knees, clutching her head as the hood flung back, fully revealing a gaunt and close to skeletal face with sunken, amber eyes and blackened, shriveled gums that made her teeth look doglike.

Dante shuddered and eyed Roy for an explanation, just to see the old man look more afraid than he'd ever seen him before and taking a hesitant step backwards.

"That's the face of a witch who's totally given herself away to demonic influence," Roy said, looking on warily. "My God, she is hardly human anymore."

"They never are, old man," Dante muttered.

Sasha, still being jolted by all that energy being released, wailed and wriggled her way towards the open Gate. The portal to the Underworld still gave off large amounts of energy but the witch was desperately trying to get to it. Selene followed her with a determined, angry pace.

"Are you satisfied, my sister?" she asked. "You can pay a visit to your wretched masters now. Is that not what you wanted?"

Sasha just snarled back in a choked way. Selene walked Sasha all the way to the edge of the portal and with a sudden abrupt move she seized Sasha by the edge of the robe and dragged her right to the edge of the portal.

"Then go, hag. I will join you and end this madness of yours. You and I will never see the human world again," she hissed and shoved Sasha into the portal.

The Gate darkened abruptly, sinking into itself to form an abysmal hole. Selene stood at its edge, watching her sister fall into the Gate with a terrible scream and…she smiled, in an angry, vindictive way.

"Dante!" Roy blurted with an alarmed look just as the demon hunter himself rushed ahead with an actually anxious look on his face.

Finally, the 'right moment' that Roy and Dante had been waiting for happened as they watched Selene let a satisfied laugh and lean forward in complete disregard for herself, to fall into the Gate. Roy didn't even need to spell it out for Dante that she was planning to use herself—and Tess—to seal Sasha up in the Underworld for good.

But Dante got to her first and reaching out grabbed her arm. He felt a surge of something like rogue energy shooting through him painfully and he even saw it crackling against his skin and clothes. The raw hellish energy coming off the Gate and from Selene caused him to see his arm flash between his human form and demon form for just a split-second, as if he'd seen it through glass. He could feel his hand gripping Tess' ice cold arm but also gripping the arm of something a lot more ancient…and not alive. He almost gasped. An amazing force seemed to be trying to rip her out of his grip and he gritted his teeth as he resisted it. He wasn't certain whether it was Selene stubbornly fighting against him or the Gate's power trying to suck them in.

He pulled back and managed to get his other arm around her waist, seeing his limb pass through the voluminous spectral robes, even though he could've sworn he felt the tattered cloth under his fingers. As he struggled to pull her back, Selene actually turned and looked at him. Up close he could see the gaunt, bony face and recognized eerily familiar features and eyes. She was pale with sunken eyes, her skin riddled by bruise-like tattoos and scars, her lips torn by self-mutilation. Every moment of her obviously lengthy torture before the release of death was evident in her hard, merciless face.

"Don't interfere. I must end this, even at the cost of this girl's life. Sasha will return to full power if I do not seal her in the Underworld. You, of all people, should understand," she said to him and Dante needed all his self-control because as Selene looked at him with harsh eyes, he could see Tess' completely blank and dazed face faintly below.

"Sorry, didn't come all the way here to leave without getting her outta this mess," he grunted back as he still had to fight against the force that was trying to pry her off his hands. "Better let go of her, now!"

She glared at him but then smirked. "You will take responsibility for the consequences of your actions? You might fail and then all your effort will be for nothing."

Dante was getting frustrated and what she said just sent him over the edge. He frowned and although he tried to restrain himself, he knew that his demonic aura was most probably starting to show due to his agitation. Fine, he'd deal with this crazy witch's deranged demon sister, even though he still owed Vergil a sound ass-kicking as well.

"Yeah, fine. I'll clean up this frickin' mess. Do your worst, lady, just let Tess out of it," he said sternly.

Selene just laughed maddeningly and Dante felt the tension trying to pry Tess away from him relaxing softly and he was able to pull her away from the edge of the Gate, which was actually starting to pull them both in. At the same time, Selene's form slid off Tess, much like a glove being pulled off a hand. Selene hovered back and down towards the Gate before dissipating with a last laugh while Tess let a shocked gasp and slumped forward.

Dante pulled her in and saw she was still in shock, likely from the combination of such a lengthy and aggressive possession and the sizable wound on her neck. Dante finally saw just how bad that was: A jagged, uneven strip of skin had been ripped off from all around her neck where that choker had been. It was still bleeding but Dante was relieved to find that neither of the major veins and arteries was injured. She still had a shocked and dazed expression and didn't seem to realize what was happening. Dante had to pick her up in his arms and retreat from the Gate, which now seemed to be going out of control and trying to suck in everything around it.

Dante carried her away from the visibly unstable Gate. She was still in shock, breathing in short, rasp gasps and staring blankly ahead of her, but there seemed to be some awareness of what was going on in her look. She directed her gaze right at him and for a moment their sights crossed and Dante thought he distinguished relief in her face. The magic circle traced on the ground and around the Gate, presumably to restrain it, was failing and the entire building now shook violently as the shape of the Gate warped a little, then more strongly while the circles failed.

Roy was by him almost immediately and took Tess from him, in his own arms. Dante thought the old man looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"Good job!" the old man grunted. "She's in shock but I think I can bring her round."

"You better, I didn't come all the way out here to save her ass for her to go on me!" Dante replied, then jabbed his thumb towards the Gate. "I gotta take care of that thing…and some family issues!"

"I'll tell Trish to come with me. When I'm done with Tess, we'll start dismantling as many of the Gate network as we can. It should help slow this mess down and buy you time to deal with it! And Dante-" he said, with a cautionary tone. "Whatever comes through that Gate…It'll be older and deadlier than anything we've seen. Don't let it through!"

Dante nodded sharply and the two parted ways. Roy carried the stunned witch out of the shaking room and Dante turned just to see Vergil getting up from the floor, stand straight and look right at him. He was breathing heavily, but looked far healthier and able than ever before. They stood like that, facing each other for a long moment silently, while the raging Gate spewed out more and more demonic essence everywhere around them.

"So…it comes to this, yet again," Vergil said, his very voice having returned to its original state of calm pride and power.

Dante scoffed, folding his arms and disregarding the impossible din clamoring around them and the increasing shaking of the room. "You know, we can't keep meeting like this every time, bro. What say we go for drinks next time, huh? 'Cuz right now, I'm _a little upset_ for that."

Vergil palmed the hilt of Yamato calmly, without the slightest hint of agitation, his grip stronger and steadier than before, making Dante feel almost nostalgic. "I'm not surprised. You have never been good at controlling your emotions."

A chunk of ceiling suddenly crashed down between them, raising dust yet neither of the two flinched as the building now seemed to groan and rock with the weight of the Gate running rampant. The room or even the entire building might not last for long. Neither of them looked concerned, although both dared quick, unsettled glances towards the Gate, wary of its behavior. The Gate was still shock full of wiccan power, reacting with the demonic influence, turning into a veritable ticking bomb and neither of the twins were in any way able to predict how it might behave. For now though, both were maintaining their respective composures.

"Well, you're the one always pissing me off," Dante replied, flexing his sword hand very slowly. "And while I'm at it—you know I ain't gonna let you keep the Amulet, right? Why don't you hand it over now before I have to beat you up for it again?"

Vergil's expression turned sarcastic and a smirk graced his features. "Let us see then, if you have learned anything these years."

As the Gate now rampaged out of control, spewing unstable amounts of demonic energy and made the building shake to its foundations, the two of them suddenly went for each other. They covered the short distance between them in an explosive burst of speed that brought them face to face, swords drawn, in seconds. The blades clashed with a loud din and after the initial jolt of the sudden stop, they began exchanging a rapid flurry of sword strikes.

Reaching for his guns was no use; previous experience had taught Dante that just shooting Vergil in the face was useless. Vergil's reflexes were always sharp enough to deal with bullets and something told Dante that now Vergil was as able as back when they fought on Temen-Ni-Gru—even more so, possibly. He saved his guns for when he could find some opening to catch him by surprise.

After several seconds of violent blows where neither could find or break an opening in each other's defenses, they were forced to back off after a particularly strong strike that forced Dante to parry and then push Vergil away. As they stared each other down while more rubble started falling from the ceiling and the walls started to crack violently, Dante couldn't help himself and asked:

"Surprised you had the stamina to beat up the kid and take your sword back…considering you were supposed to be _dead_," he said as they started to move in slow semi-circles, still facing each other.

"That child was capable of nothing more than immature lack of reason that even you couldn't rival," Vergil said sharply with a frown. "Even if I was dead, I expected you to at least have the decency to retrieve and safeguard it. You had no right to leave my sword—_my heritage_—with that disgrace to our father's memory," he went on coldly.

Dante scoffed. "Yeah well, I thought he handled himself well enough to look after it in case you _weren't_ dead after all. Though I probably could've overlooked that if you would, for once, keep our issues between us instead of pulling other people into it!"

It was Vergil's turn to scoff. "As I said, the witch was nothing more than convenient to my end. I have no more interest in 'pissing you off' than I have in human weaknesses; namely your own, Dante. She's served her purpose and I have no more use for her. This folly of wiccan arrogance is none of my concern."

Dante grit his teeth and felt his hand tighten harder around the hilt of Rebellion. He was aware he had to deal with that Gate too but he had an overwhelming desire to just break Vergil's face—somehow. Instead he suddenly attacked Vergil with a very fast step and a faked straight approach. The moment Vergil struck out to counter with Yamato, releasing a large, barely visible arc from a slash of his sword that travelled across the room like a wave of energy that traveled across the room, Dante dodged to the side and almost immediately swung his sword in a wide arch. Vergil was able to parry but the force was such that he was pushed back and instead of countering the next two swings, he just back stepped away from their reach calmly.

"That's probably your new all time low, bro," Dante said with a less than amused tone, although he was trying to keep his head cool for this fight.

He dodged a series of blue summoned blades—a move he thought he'd never see again since Nelo Angelo seemed to bite the dust. It brought up in him a mixed feeling of nostalgia and distaste. He drew Ivory and shot one right on the tip as it was about to hit him, shattering it to pieces, as the charge of demonic power in the bullets countered Vergil's.

"But now I'd say we're pretty evenly matched, don't you think?" he sarcastically remarked as Vergil already closed the distance with a frigid stare and Yamato sheathed, ready to be drawn at incredible speeds.

Dante barely blocked the incoming blade and a clang of metal reverberated through the room, even louder than the roaring of the uncontrollable Gate going into full swing and starting to rip the room apart. They kept going at each other, swords swinging wildly and Dante occasionally finding openings to fire his guns just for the bullets to be dodged or deflected. In the course of the fight Dante got the shrewd impression that Vergil was sort of…getting back into his game.

From the way he moved to the way their blades came in contact, Dante felt like Vergil may have recovered his power after that ritual—a power more than likely comparable to his own—but he still hadn't _adjusted_ to it. Dante found it ironic; for someone craving power, Vergil almost seemed to be grappling with it now that he had it again. But that wouldn't last for long, judging by how aggressive their fight was getting. Any moment now, Dante expected they'd start releasing their demonic powers and _really_ go for each other's throats.

To top things off, he was getting more concerned about the Gate by the minute. It wasn't looking good.

His attention though could hardly be diverted over to it, because his tussle with Vergil was escalating—to the point where one of Vergil's lightning-fast attacks got him and he winced to feel a cutting sensation on his left arm, the sinews and ligaments of muscle and tendon being severed by the all too familiar sensation of the Yamato carving through his skin and muscles.

He didn't give Vergil a chance to relish that, since almost simultaneously, he fired a charged shot straight into Vergil's thigh, nearly at point-blank and was glad to hear a suppressed grunt of surprise from his twin as they both pulled away from each other once more. Neither of them seemed to care for the building really starting to come down around them and the floor caving in. But Dante lunged ahead suddenly and though Vergil attempted to block him, struck Vergil with a stinger that propelled them both backwards and through the crumbling front wall of the hall with the loud crack of breaking masonry as the floor caved in behind them and the roof and walls followed right away.

Vergil grabbed Dante's neck midair and instantly triggering his demonic powers, swung them over and literally tossed Dante away from him, cratering his twin into the paved courtyard in front of where the castle-like fort had stood before landing smoothly on two feet himself, relaxing his power once again. That instant though was enough for Dante to gauge his brother's demonic powers all over again. With the influences of his Nelo Angelo life gone, the demon form was roughly the same stature as his own, but sleeker and more streamlined. Even the demon form could not dampen Vergil's coldly calculative and severe expression, despite the hard scowl of the demon and the menacing but oddly fitting horns that curved forward from the sides and the second, smaller and sleeker pair that curved back over the barely visible white hair, sleeked back. The predominately black and deep blue skin displayed layered, wide scales that overlapped to ensure minimal friction, there was very little, if any sign of the wings tightly folded against the body, with almost white glowing eyes and a perfectly streamlined sheath for the Yamato growing out of his left arm.

"_Yep, whatever it was Tess—or Selene did, it worked alright," _Dante thought sarcastically, getting up swiftly and shaking his arm a bit.

The ruins of the manor, before the dust even settled, were disintegrating fast from the power of the Gate, which spewed potent amounts of demonic essence, and yet Dante noted that its destructive power was starting to slow down a little. Perhaps Roy and Trish had really gotten underway with destroying the smaller Gates and it was working. However, it was still just buying time.

Dante glowered as Vergil drew the Yamato again and swung it, sending another cutting arc towards him. He dodged it easily and held back a smirk as he countered with a barrage of gunfire that forced Vergil to ricochet them away, stopping him from unleashing any more long range attacks. In the meantime though, Dante had closed in rapidly and they found themselves in another rapid flurry of exchanged sword blows, with one parrying the other's strikes and countering faster than they could register. Both were running more on savage instincts than rational thought and it was starting to show in the way they moved, getting faster and more abrupt, but at the same time pushing more force into their exchange of blows. Every now and then one of them would get a hit in but it was never something that would've adequately tipped the scales in favor of either.

Several times, one or the other would suddenly trigger their demonic side and push the other to do the same just so they could hold their ground and not give in to retreat. It was a ferocious back and forth and Dante felt a sinister smirk spreading on his face. Vergil on the other hand maintained his stone cold neutral expression, that spoke volumes about how little he was actually affected by this bout…yet there was something in his eyes that showed that he was getting some kind of odd enjoyment from this contest.

Meanwhile the building had already begun its collapse; the once steadfast walls that had been the subject of great admiration and fondness by successive owners and passing visitors started to crumble under their own weight. The haywire Gate aided them on, seeming to absorb any materials that came close to it and expanding dangerously in size and power. Suddenly the Gate gave a stronger tremor that shook the ground, and a deafening roar that made the twins pause their fight for just an instant and glance at it.

"It's out of control now," Vergil observed matter-of-factly.

"Guess that's just what you and your witch girlfriend wanted then," Dante said coldly.

"This gate is none of my concern," Vergil replied nonchalantly.

Dante scoffed at that. "You're lying, bro. It's something that ruins dad's work and you really hate that stuff."

That observation had a result that Dante was expecting: Vergil frowned visibly and seemed affected. His grip around his sword's hilt tightened but he didn't resume his attack because of the state of the Gate. It suddenly let out a loud screeching noise, like rusty metal parts grinding against each other forcefully and caused such a tremor that both twins needed to brace themselves for balance. Then came the cold; it felt like just another breeze of wind at first but its coldness grew sharply into a feeling of razors raking the skin with sheer frost. The ground underfoot started to crackle with the sound of ice particles forming over it.

"Sasha," Vergil blurted with an angry, dry tone as the creature responsible for the frost emerged.

She looked like some giant, glittering moth or butterfly with gossamer-like wings that reflected the hues of ice, run with little reddish veins that wove intricate patterns along the frozen surface. Her body was mostly human-formed, layered with a sheet of crystalline ice that made her look as if made from opaque glass. But her lower half, instead of legs, had a bulbous tail, much like a scorpion's, with a prominent, darker stinger. Her rope-like hair now had a glassy look to it and a crest of ice crowned her head, extending like elegant antennae. She laughed softly as she approached, having come through the Gate. The Gate itself seemed to stabilize a little after she appeared, but it was still roaring and quivering while particles of matter were sucked into it.

"You both have my gratitude, children," she said with a voice that sounded fractured, like several women were speaking together. "Had it not been for your decision to meddle with the ritual, my sister would have succeeded."

She embraced herself in a narcissistic, seductive manner. "I am finally free of my shackles, returned to the form and power I was intended for!"

Dante smirked as he stared up the demon witch. "You went through all the trouble to look like a frosty butterfly? Hah! Man, you got shafted pretty hard, lady," he laughed sarcastically. "I bet you're just gonna try and bump us off now, aren't you?"

Vergil narrowed his eyes and frowned apprehensively. Though Dante expressed himself in ways that made Vergil want to palm his face in embarrassment or annoyance, he did agree with his brother's observations. Sasha did seem to have done this ritual for little more than just freedom to use her powers…and he too expected her to turn on them. But he was surprised.

"You? Why would I have any interest in wasting time with you two?" the moth witch scoffed, her pearly eyes staring them down from her floating position overhead. "I have a different quarry to catch, that witch you wasted time saving—AAAARGH!"

Her gloating was cut short with a loud shriek when a bright flare of searing flame burst from her chest with a roaring hiss and she was flung backwards and down onto some rubble that still remained from the chateaux, where she thrashed and screamed for a short moment. Dante grinned a bit; he knew it had to be her and he wasn't at all surprised to look over his shoulder and see Tess making her way—marching almost—towards them. She was wide awake, her neck wrapped in bandage, and she looked angry. Her green eyes were practically flashing with anger and even as she obviously saw both him and Vergil, she didn't stop or even hesitate.

She walked right past them, giving them both but a cold, steely glance. "Carry on with your fight, boys," she told them icily. "If she wants me so badly, I'm right here."

Sasha stopped thrashing long enough to glare at Tess with a hungry, sadistic grin full of pointed teeth and stretching her wings, flew up and back, towards the ruins of the building while Tess followed with a calm step. Dante and Vergil exchanged a glance; silently, they agreed to that demand of hers but at the same time they were both taken aback by her attitude and her boldness.

"_Roy sure works fast," _Dante thought for a moment._ "Tess… watch yourself with that bitch."_

But as much as he would've liked to go with her, he still had Vergil to contend with. They still needed to settle their differences…


	15. Chapter 14 The End, The Sky

**Chapter XIV  
The End, The Sky**

Without warning, the indecisive weather got worse. It rained with fury, thunder came rolling in dramatically as if the weather was getting a sense of theatrics. But the tempest overhead paled in comparison to the turmoil below it.

Dante was nearly certain that every swing, parry or dodge they made was almost a repeat of their duel on Temen-Ni-Gru. Even the weather was the same and the time of day was getting there, as the sky grew darker even through the heavy clouds. But he hardly noticed as he dodged one of Vergil's cutting assaults that created an afterimage of the blade, barely visible to the naked eye. Speed was always Vergil's trump card in everything. Dante could keep up, but this kind of speed that his brother always employed when attacking wasn't his style. He could parry everything and deliver hits of greater force but he still couldn't penetrate Vergil's defenses either.

In fact, Dante felt that for most of the time, they were just butting heads, and kept pushing each other back, neither of them giving any signs of tiredness or losing ground. And just backing down was never an option between them. Vergil calmly stepped out of the way as Dante attempted to surprise him with a flurry of charged shots from his guns, the powered bullets barely missing his head as they passed by in blazes of red. He casually knocked a few away with a spinning motion of the Yamato and closed in as Dante put the guns away.

The clashing of their blades reverberated across the trashed courtyard and continued to echo loudly as they kept up their nearly frantic duel. Their blows got so strong that their force began to affect the nearby ruin. The blue tint of the summoned swords Vergil suddenly sent at him briefly illuminated his face and Dante barely dodged the deadly projectiles that struck the wall of the manor behind him and blasted a hole into it. The debris caused by it were drawn back into the Gate that still trembled and roared, drawing any loose matter around it into itself, like a black hole.

Dante gritted his teeth and drew one of his guns again to shoot down some more of Vergil's summoned swords before going into a series of rapid back-steps and side rolls to evade Vergil's newest charge. Aware that he sometimes lost track of time during such intense confrontations, Dante tried to keep one step ahead of Vergil while casting a glance at the raging Gate and looking for any sign of Tess.

A large blast coming from the wrecked building let him know she was fighting too—there was no mistaking that brilliant plume of fire that accompanied that blast.

Surely enough, not too far from where Dante and Vergil were making an earnest attempt to kill each other, a much deadlier battle was being waged between a witch and a monster that had abandoned all pretences of humanity and lived for revenge.

Tess breathed harshly, clenching her jaw and resisting the urge to shiver at the cold surrounding her. Sasha had spread a deathly frost everywhere, as if they'd been transported to the poles. Tess had evaded numerous assaults of icicles, creeping fog that froze everything in its wake and blatant chunks of ice erupting out of the floor wherever she moved. She'd blocked and nullified many other magic assaults with circles and shields and melted a lot of ice coming her way with fire. In fact, her powers over fire were likely what kept this stalemate from going anywhere.

Sasha, in her grotesque moth-like form, soared overhead, occasionally peppering Tess with frozen assaults, attempts at binding or trapping incantations and a few rare dives or swipes of her scorpion-like tail. Tess, stuck on the ground, watched her closely all the time, retaliating with large tongues of fire, blazing explosions and protective circles and shields to deal with her. Neither seemed to be faltering much, even though Sasha was powered by her now infernal nature and Tess had been through an ordeal such as the Rite and its consequences.

Sasha stretched her delicate wings and flapped them forward, sending another wave of chilling fog to sweep through the ruins of the manor that made their battleground. It froze everything on contact, turning the rain into tiny bits of ice that hit the ground with soft clinks. Tess met that creeping frost with a wall of nearly white-hot flames, resulting in a blast of steam as the two fronts clashed. Tess pushed harder and the wall concentrated into a massive lance-shaped jet of fire that blazed forward and up at Sasha. The devil-witch was forced to sweep down to evade it, then shrieked in anger as a second blast of fire caught her, knocking her down. Tess, evading the icicles Sasha fired at her, cried out an incantation and a magic circle manifested into being right under the demon-witch. It forcefully slammed her back down to the ground just as she'd managed to leave the ground.

Sasha hissed and spreading her wings, she shrieked, releasing a frozen power wave that strained within the confines of the circle and then breached it. The wave forced Tess to back away and raise another massive wall of fire. It nearly extinguished her flames and Tess pulled her arms back with a painful hiss. Frozen patches grew on her forearms where frost clung to her skin and gave her painful frostbites. She brushed the frost off and returned fire rather literally, creating several lashes of fire that arched out like blades as they traveled through the air with the speed of bullets. The lashes followed Sasha around as she flew about. She dodged some that crashed into walls or the ground while others seared her and caused her to careen sideways just as Tess directed a hex at her. It struck the demon-witch in the abdomen and branded a mark on her, some form of rune or protective seal. It caused her immense pain and she howled in anger, clawing at herself while retreating.

Tess vaulted over an icicle that smashed on the ground in front of her, careful not to slip on the frozen floor and got close to her, belting out masses of fire that streaked like comets and collided with the demon-witch. Some hissed as they hit the frost she sent back to counter them while others sizzled angrily against her, causing her to shriek even louder. Sasha suddenly broke free of the effects of Tess' spell and with a sinister laugh lurched into the air and hurled a billow of icy mist that expanded, filling the whole area. Tess blurted a surprised gasp as the crackle of ice filled the air.

On the other side of the ruined complex, Vergil staggered back briefly and then backed up gracefully after catching one of Dante's blows on the Yamato. Dante persisted, following his every step and swinging his sword, ready to catch any small opening he could find. And yet, when the ground under them shook violently, both staggered to a cold stop, glanced at the rain-soaked ground and then at each other for a long moment. The tremors started again, more intense than before, and part of the ruined building collapsed further with a loud clamor, revealing the unstable Gate had grown in size and sucked in most of the debris in its radius. It gave off so much demonic power now that when Dante and Vergil clashed again they both seemed to flicker in and out of their demonic forms for split-seconds.

"Hope you're pleased with this fine mess you caused this time, _bro_," Dante muttered.

Vergil just frowned. He wasn't going to dignify that with an answer, only a lightning-fast horizontal slash. Dante blocked it and the swords rang out as they met, a high-pitched sound that raised hackles and set teeth on edge. However, the sounds of their battle were nearly inaudible by the furious, ear-piercing roar of lightning striking the Gate all. Another violent tremor forced the combatants apart again. A second lightning struck the Gate and it swelled in size again.

"It's growing more unstable. The effect of the wiccan powers on it must be amplifying its threshold," Vergil said flatly, although Dante was pretty sure he was interested.

"You think, Sherlock?" he scoffed. "Get a better look. Something's _coming_."

Dante was right. The Gate itself shivered, causing the ground to rumble again. It seemed to split suddenly, its dizzy swirl of distorted light and dark parting slightly and something pushed through. It had to come through partway, about the side of a bus, before either twin could register exactly what it was: A hand.

It had thick fingers and claws and small spines studding the swollen joints. A thick dark chain, leading back into the Gate, jangled with a baritone pitch slowly as the hand moved, attached to shackles on the hand's wrist. The hand thudded down on the ground as it came through, obliterating a large piece of debris in its wake, while a second hand came out further ahead, also slamming on the ground. The sons of Sparda were witnessing an enormous demon crawling out of the Gate—likely bigger than anything they'd ever seen.

Finally a head came into view through the Gate, a colossal thing to behold, hunched down and covered in a wild mane of pitch black hair that fell forward obscuring the face, but swirling and writhing like very thin tentacles, iridescent with white sheen. Thick horns grew from the sides of its head, with a downward coil like the horns of a ram, tinted a dull blue. The tips gleamed with a brighter hue. As the shoulders emerged through the Gate, the skin was at last fully revealed: A sickly gray with open sores that oozed a bright, yellowish-orange liquid that sizzled when it came in contact with the ground. Smaller…_things_, resembling snakes, centipedes and crawling bugs were slithering all over this horrid demon's body, sometimes diving in and out of the open sores. Jagged spines grew all along the arms of the demon as though they tore through the flesh, rippling with the muscles and motion.

The demon paused for an instant, its head still held low and only out of the Gate enough for its shoulders and topmost of the torso to be free. It inhaled and then breathed out with a deep, guttural boom, filling the air with a vile stench of decay and charred flesh that overpowered the smell of rain.

"I've heard of this creature," Vergil said in his flat, deadpan manner and Dante eyed him. "It is called _Belphegor_; one of the original princes of the Underworld. Said to be almost as powerful as Mundus himself…" he added and for a second there, Dante thought Vergil sounded…_concerned_.

"Well that's just great," he growled. "Still planning to not give a damn about all this? Because I sure as hell don't plan to sit back and let this thing go trampling on—"

"Father's work. I know," Vergil said meaningfully and suddenly relaxed his stance, sheathing Yamato again.

Dante instinctively mimicked him, putting Rebellion away and eyeing up this Belphegor demon. He wasn't certain of Vergil's intentions, but it did seem that Vergil was willing to fight that thing off too. A little of that old brotherly camaraderie was in order, perhaps. Just like years ago in the bowels of Hell.

On the other side of the ruin, Sasha felt the tremors of the ground and the surge of energy caused by the Gate opening and Belphegor stepping through. She grinned a mouthful of knives and chuckled lowly.

"My master…has arrived," she said gleefully, eying the large ice construct that the freezing mist had developed into, with Tess trapped inside it.

She could just barely see the redhead frozen in the jagged ice and reeling her hand back while flying in midair, generated a massive lance-like shard of ice that she was ready to hurl straight into the ice construct with the intent to kill her.

"I will finally have my revenge…and the power that is rightfully mine…" she seethed, ready to fling the ice spear when she noticed a growing glow, like a flare, inside the ice. "No, you shall not escape!" she shouted, hurling the lance.

But the ice met with nothing but fire. With an eruption fit for a bomb, a pillar of fire roared into being, shattering the ice with a resonating blast and rose up with a brilliant glow that gave off so much heat that the rain in its immediate vicinity just plain stopped while it was there. The fire swirled upwards, melting most of the ice around it and literally devouring the ice spear Sasha flung, forcing the demon-witch to lurch backwards with an angry hiss, covering her face with her arms, unable to bear the heat.

"Come on, you had to have seen _that_ coming, Sasha…" Tess said in a rather wicked tone as the pillar of fire soared upward and extinguished itself into the clouds above with a loud hiss.

The redhead stood on the scorched ground, in a shallow crater that was burned from the churning flames and rapidly evaporating ice. She seemed worn, breathing deeply, but not in any way ready to call it quits. In fact, she caught Sasha by complete surprise and jerking her arm to the side, recited a long incantation, her words carrying a surge of power that rolled along her voice like the rumble of thunder and amplified their volume. Sasha screamed in dejected anger as she found herself bound by an incredibly large, complicated magic circle and held in place by ethereal chains that grew out of the circle and wrapped around her waist and arms, forcing her in place. She thrashed, trying to get herself free, spreading more of her freezing mist…except it seemed to stop dead right at the edge of the circles, where it feebly evaporated away as walls of fire blazed all around it.

She attempted to speak an incantation to break it but her words rang empty, like incoherent babbling and then she knew that the powers of witchcraft had left her, either because of Tess' binding circle, or because she was too far into demonic nature to maintain any touch with her birthright.

"_Graaarhg_! NO! No, I can't fall…like this!" she blurted, realizing she could neither move, nor fight back with demonic means.

Tess scoffed. "I'd revise that if I were you, because as far as last words go, that's a pathetic attempt. Witchcraft's abandoned you, just like your sister warned you that it would."

"You…fucking…inbred bitch…!" Sasha growled at Tess, still tugging at her binds. "I'm the reason you're even here. You think your powers of Deep Sight are any—"

"Save it, I've heard everything there is to say about my second sight and I. Don't. Care," Tess replied with a sing-song tone. "And I don't care about what you did to bring me about either, you frosty old hag."

The circle suddenly lit up with fire as it seemed to charge up, glowing brighter and brighter from red to orange to white with an intense heat.

"It doesn't matter! My master is already here! He'll see to my revenge—along with the rest of the world!" Sasha laughed even as a new pillar of fire, even bigger and brighter than the last one rocketed upwards, swallowing her up in a blaze that swelled into an expanding sphere with a deafening roar of flames, rising higher than the pathetic ruins that contained it and lighting up the stormy sky so much that the flash of lightning grew dim before it and its roar echoed through the air along with Sasha's last cry.

Dante and Vergil both saw the magnificent eruption of fire even in the midst of evading another of Belphegor's crude swipes. Crude but incredibly dangerous, as the massive demon swept the ground in front of him with his massive arm, scraping up the ground so deeply that it seemed like an errant plow machine had been through the place, driven by a lunatic.

"Looks like your girlfriend croaked it at last!" Dante scoffed while landing safely on his feet after a giant leap over the demon's arm.

After the swipe Belphegor grunted like a wounded beast and his head jerked again lurching low as he seemed to vomit from under his tumbling hair. A loud, fleshy crash came before a mass of the creatures swarming Belphegor's enormous body bolted out of the mess he coughed up, partly covered in that sickening, acidic goo.

Vergil unceremoniously obliterated the head of a large serpent with a flurry of summoned swords. "…Good riddance," was all he said in comment and Dante actually paused after cutting down something that looked like a giant, slimy millipede and stared at him.

They cleared most of the spawn that swarmed them with ease and most of the leftovers were wiped out by Belphegor himself, who suddenly swept his arm along the ground again, and then let a guttural grunt, not unlike a massively amplified sound of a pig being slaughtered. As the demon's grunt blared through the air, it preceded a release of raw energy that swept over everything in its path. This caused the spawn released from him to attack with greater fervor, as if that energy revitalized them. However, the same surge of energy seemed to affect the twins as it very nearly forced them—or rather, _eased_ them into their demonic forms temporarily as well.

It became all too easy to eliminate all the spawn, even those that Belphegor coughed up after his initial energy release. The sons of Sparda tore through them like wet paper and then went for the jugular, each taking one of Belphegor's arms and assaulting the wrists as they were exposed by the great demon's motions. Both of them cut through the thick, hard skin of the demon, striking deep and the demon let a deep, booming wail and suddenly pitched forward, falling onto its elbow hard with a thud that shook the ground as the twins retreated to avoid being crushed. Their demonic forms faded and they watched Belphegor raise his free arm, dark, thick blood streaming like rivers down from the large wounds. Belphegor slammed his hand down with enough force to create a sizable dent and partially demolish the ruins behind him even further.

The twins both dodged this new attack and were again plagued by more spawn that Belphegor expelled on them, this time in even greater numbers, while he got back on his arms. Aside from sweeping the ground and slamming his hand down, he also took to creating blasts of energy that formed in midair and rained down on them. One of the blasts crashed down before them and knocked them off their feet. Vergil took the brunt of it and either because he was still not fully recovered from the Rite, or was beginning to feel some effect of fatigue, he was knocked on his back briefly but long enough for some spawn to beset him. He was on his feet in a heartbeat and cut them down with motions too fast for the naked eye, but was surrounded so thickly, it looked like he couldn't keep up. The head of a massive arachnid-like spawn was blown to pieces by gunfire and Dante cut through more spawn to reach his brother.

Dealing with the sheer large numbers of spawn made it hard to keep up with Belphegor's sweeps and smashes, so when he raised his arm again, Dante wasn't sure they'd be able to dodge effectively, up to their necks in spawn as they were.

So he was kind of glad to see a massive trail of fire suddenly weave its way along the ground, through spawn, tossing them out of its way, charred or blown to bits due to its force. And surely, Tess' incantation rang like a bell before she even got to them, her words carried on a surge of power so subtle that both twins nearly missed it until the ground was alight with a massive magic circle and Tess was suddenly in there with them, having teleported there with a wisp of smoke in time to finish the incantation and hold her hand out above her.

Belphegor's hand smashed onto a kind of transparent shield that had roughly the same size as the circle below them. The collision produced a surge of energy like static and a loud booming sound like it'd hit a solid surface. Its reverberation knocked many spawn back and made Tess gasp and nearly buckle under the pressure but she held fast and only when Belphegor's hand pulled back did she let it go to scourge spawn with fire.

"Nice to see you, Tess!" Dante said with a scoff, cutting down more spawn.

"Save it, we've got other problems," she replied curtly and Dante noted her pale face and exhausted look.

"What, him? He's not a problem," Dante said casually and eyed Vergil whose indifferent expression had changed to that of mild surprise.

"Wish it was that simple. I'll keep some spawn off you. Heads up," she muttered as Belphegor wailed again and another surge of demonic essence flowed off him, giving the spawn and the twins a power boost. Tess guarded against that with another shield circle, again jolted by the force but she grit her teeth and took it, before using a massive amount of flames and a few errand explosions to clear the area around her from spawn. Brazenly, she even kicked a four-legged one in the face, knocking it away with a fast sweep of the leg and then knocked it further away with a burst of fire.

Dante and Vergil's subsequent attack at Belphegor's arms caused him to fall yet again and this time they went for his head as well, cutting through the tangled mass of living hair before Dante scored a direct hit with a thrust. After a resounding crack, blood spurted high like a ruptured pressure vessel and rained down quite copiously while Dante, still in demonic form, withdrew the blade with a wide slash.

"This can't continue!" Tess called to the twins. "This Gate's completely distorted and it's getting bigger! He'll get out and then it's all over! You can't fight him full force in the human world!"

"I know that! What do you want me to do?" Dante barked back at her as he and Vergil retreated, resuming human forms, before Belphegor started making that distinctive retching noise before vomiting up more spawn.

Tess directed a massive blast at Belphegor's head, causing him to lurch sideways and stopped his action. He raised his hand and slammed it down, but Tess wasn't there anymore, having teleported away safely.

"We need to push him back in," Vergil said, sounding like he was stating the obvious. "Allowing him through would distort the Gate further and turn it into a massive rift that we couldn't possibly control."

"If you can force him back in, I can close the Gate and seal it. But you have to be careful not to get sucked in," Tess warned them. "I severely doubt there's any escape from Belphegor's prison."

Vergil suddenly paused in his cutting down some remaining spawn and looked at her with an expression of incredulous wonder, like she was mad. "You don't have the power to do such a thing," he said dryly.

"Not while you had me on a leash, I didn't. Don't be upset that I kept stuff from you. Girls under pressure tend to do that," she replied icily. "Regardless, I must at least try and we are _not_ going to sit here and debate this now."

Dante wanted to laugh. Vergil made no response to the witch he'd called slave a mere hour ago and in fact had a look like he couldn't find something worthwhile to answer to her bold end-of-discussion comment.

There wouldn't be much more room for any discussion anyway, because Belphegor wailed and swept at them again, forcing all three to dodge. Taking advantage of it, Vergil moved under the raised arm and suddenly assuming his demonic form, drove a powerful and fast cut into the wrist still supporting the demon. Blood spurted out and Belphegor fell on his elbow with an earth-shaking crash. At the same time, Dante, also in demonic form, jumped over the arm and spreading his demon wings effortlessly soared right into the great demon's face and with a spinning motion smashed his sword against Belphegor's skull, producing another resounding crack. The strike's force caused a shockwave that boomed around and made Belphegor jerk back with another wail. He tried to sweep in front of him but Dante had already dropped down back into his human form so the demon swatted air.

A trail of fire burned a new, larger circle on the ground, with a complex system of runes, symbols and intertwining circles and shapes that formed a massive seal on the ground. Tess interrupted her work on the seal only to assist in Belphegor's fall with a massive blast of flame right as he was about to retch up some spawn. This pattern repeated itself as Tess weaved her seal spells around the Gate, all the while fending off the occasional spawn and helping push Belphegor back. Dante and Vergil seemed to have completely put aside their animosity for the sake of this fight. They both hit hard and in near-perfect co-ordination, as if they were following a well-laid plan.

It worked too, because when Tess started the process of sealing the Gate, causing the circle to resonate with power, Belphegor seemed to struggle with his advance forward. He raised his arm again to smash down on the ground.

"He's starting to piss me off with the thumping…" Dante said with a click of the tongue.

He looked at Vergil meaningfully, who simply nodded subtly and dashed forward as Dante mimicked him from the other side. They cut nearly simultaneously, their strikes powered by their demonic natures and with two precision strikes. Belphegor's hand, that was holding up his bulk, was severed neatly just above the wrist in a shower of blood. The demon staggered and toppled over on his side with a ground-shaking thud and another wail. The severed limb twitched a couple of times before the fingers curled towards the palm idly. Meanwhile, the Gate itself seemed to be pulling the demon back in and he clawed at the ground to stall it.

Dante glanced over his shoulder and saw Tess blasting more spawn away from her in a circle while belting out further incantations and spells. Her words were rolling out like thunder, amplified by the powers they were summoning and the circles resonated stronger and even seemed to move like wheels. The din of Belphegor's wails, the spawn and the Gate's noise nearly drowned her out anyway but he was more concerned with the fact that she looked like she was shaking from exhaustion but wasn't giving up.

Unable to properly hold himself up anymore, Belphegor supported himself on his elbow and used his good hand to swipe at them and slam against the ground while generating more errand bursts of energy from above. Tess found it hard to dodge while maintaining her spells on the Gate. She evaded the swipe and moved around to dodge the energy blasts, but her exhaustion was showing. One crashed down a bit too close and the shock caused her to fall to her knee, though safe from serious damage. Instead of getting up though, she concentrated on keeping the Gate closing, holding her hand out and belting out yet another incantation. The Gate crackled in reaction and shivered again, causing the ground to shudder.

Belphegor took notice of the Gate that was starting to close and wailed, smashing his hand on the ground and belching out more spawn. Despite it all though, the great demon really was being pulled back in and the circles on the ground resonated brighter and their motion on the ground became more animated, like the cogs of a mechanism. Individual runes flashed with energy and even seemed to hover out of the ground faintly. Tess strained and the Gate started to close faster.

Dante suddenly dove at her and with a mighty swing, he sent a spawn that was about to attack her flying, minus a sizable chunk of its body.

"Taking your sweet time, aren't you?" he joked at her, shooting at some more spawn to give her some room.

"You're such a comedian," Tess muttered, standing up. "Quit your yakering and go beat some giant demon ass. And do me a favor—"

"What?" Dante asked as a blast of fire cleared the area around them while Vergil cut down the rest of the spawn.

Tess handed him what felt and looked like a pile of rags, but the moment he touched it he realized it was what remained of the Tome of Rites. It'd been torn and scorched by fire, but it was still intact enough to be read and in Tess' view, enough to be dangerous.

"I need you to hurl it into the Gate after the demon," she said flatly. "I can't destroy it and God knows I tried. This is the only way I'll be sure we've gotten rid of it."

Dante smirked, shoving the book in his coat's widest pocket. "You got it," he said and then the two parted to dodge another shower of energy before he and Vergil attacked Belphegor again. They both went for the head, jumping over another sweep and their blows landed so hard, the great demon was knocked flat on his face and the Gate suddenly drew him backwards a good deal. It was getting noticeably smaller now and Vergil paused for a moment to look back at Tess, his calm expression showing signs of mild wonder at how this human was able to muster enough power to close this errant Gate.

Belphegor was now pulled in till his head and arms barely poked out; and that was rapidly changing. The twins' assaults were getting stronger and they freely indulged in their demonic powers to drive him further back as the Gate's closing was pulling him in. And it wasn't just the demon the Gate was drawing in. Most of the debris and ruins from the chateau, shaken to pieces from the events that had transpired in its halls and the battles that followed, fell apart and was sucked into the Gate by its power. The ground itself was being torn up from the great demon's throes and the savage assaults of the two half-demons. Everything was shaking. The end happened suddenly; Belphegor let a sudden wail and despite clawing at the ground, leaving huge tracts of upturned earth and stone, he was pulled in with a clamor of noise and crackling power as the Gate shrank around his outstretched, grasping hand, the only part of him left out.

Dante pulled the book out of his pocket and as Belphegor's hand was forced back in the Gate, he wound his arm back and threw the pile of tatters in with all his might. It travelled like a missile and vanished into the small Gate, which then collapsed on itself with a loud sparking sound and a resonance of energy that blew outwards in a circle. A few errand crackles jittered about in midair for a few seconds while the circles on the ground slowed down and then eventually stopped and faded, leaving a brief, uneasy silence behind.

No sooner had it all ended, than what was left of the manor, the majority of the courtyard and cliff it all stood upon, took a dangerous tilt towards the sea and then, with the strange groaning and roaring of moving earth, it collapsed into a landslide. Within less than a couple of minutes, nearly every piece of ground that had been near the Gate had tumbled into the sea below, leaving a strange scar in the cliff-side.

And in the meantime, the rain had grown steadily weaker and the thunderclaps from above more infrequent. The storm was not over yet, but it was drawing to a close.


	16. Chapter 15 All That Remains

**Chapter XV  
All That Remains**

_"There is a sacredness in tears; they are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They are messengers of overwhelming grief and of unspeakable love."__  
Washington Irving_

* * *

When the last bits of loose earth, stones and debris tumbled down the cliff-side and then everything fell silent, bar some rumbles of thunder in the distance, Vergil and Dante were left staring at the gaping ridge left in the wake of the Gate and the ruin. Then they looked at each other.

Slowly, both of them moved away from the sharp cliff, never taking their gaze off each other. They had some unfinished business, the two of them. Vergil's sword hand twitched very faintly and Dante's hand moved ever so slightly towards his guns. But neither attacked, nor spoke. They just stood there, looking at each other for a long moment, eyes narrowed but expressions mixed and hard to read. The rain made Vergil's hair stick against his forehead, instead of that frustratingly neat slicked back look that he usually sported. Now, with soaked hair, they looked about as identical as they could get. There was something like hesitation in their respective expressions; an unwillingness to make the first move.

Dante felt torn, for second time that day. Yes, he was angry at Vergil, very angry but…

There was that insurmountable _but_ that held his hand and tongue back, prevented him from picking the fight that had been put on hold earlier. Part of him _wanted_ the scrap, another part of him, smaller and usually overlooked, _didn't_. And Vergil still had the Amulet. When they were kids they always fought over it, even when it was two pieces, shared between them. Dante had realized far too late what that gift had meant; he always had regarded it as a memento from their mother but there was another meaning to it. It was split apart for them to _protect_. They were supposed to keep it safe from the wrong hands, together. Instead, it had been part of what separated them, perhaps forever.

What was the whole point of fighting?

Suddenly he relaxed his stance and to his surprise, so did Vergil. They kept looking at each other but their expressions were still blank. Though for a brief moment, he thought he saw jadedness in Vergil's features.

"I'm not giving you the Amulet," he said dryly and Dante was not surprised that Vergil was likely thinking the same thing as him.

"What're you gonna do with it?" Dante replied in kind, tilting his head a little.

Vergil considered this for a moment, his expression unchanging. "I'm not sure," he said with a tentative tone and Dante knew in his gut he meant that. Whether that was bad or good though, was beyond him. It was one of the few times he'd ever heard Vergil express uncertainty like that and he got the impression that it disturbed his brother quite a lot.

Vergil then turned his back at him and Dante frowned. Vergil was clearly doing that on purpose, knowing Dante just wouldn't stoop so low as to attack him like that, even if Vergil had backstabbed him already. But then again, Vergil might've excused that away to himself as vengeance for the Nelo Angelo situation or for giving Yamato to Nero… Still, Dante wasn't planning on doing the same thing.

"Just so you know, I'm not gonna be cleaning up your mess the next time you try to screw around," he just said, failing to take all the spite out of his tone.

Vergil merely glanced at him over his shoulder for a brief moment and it was enough to let Dante know that setting off into another scheme to gain power was not within his brother's immediate thoughts. It also made Dante realize that they'd get nowhere if they engaged in another fight now. He felt confident that he'd probably prevail yet again, if only because Vergil was still recovering from his weakened state and had been worn out in the fight against Belphegor. Then again, so was he.

Vergil returned his gaze in front of him again. "If we are going to meet again, it'll be on my terms," he said. "Don't attempt to follow me."

Dante raised his hand and let it drop in a gesture that spoke more 'good riddance' than 'fair enough'. "Fine by me."

And with that, Vergil just walked away, with no dramatic exit or an attempt to hide where he was going. He followed a path that took him along the cliff-side and soon he vanished into what few trees and underbrush remained of the fort's gardens. Dante stood there, watching him go and he felt strange. He wasn't entirely sure if it was a good idea to let Vergil walk away with the Amulet but something in him called it 'right'.

He turned away too and looked for Tess. She wasn't where he'd last seen her, nearly collapsed from the effort. He'd known for a while that she'd left, leaving him and Vergil to settle their differences without her presence. She never did like being an audience. But she wasn't far.

He found her sitting on a piece of rubble that had been spared by both the Gate and the subsequent landslide. Ironically, it had landed right on top of a stone bench and shattered it. Otherwise, it would've been one of the few things left standing in what had been the chateau's picturesque gardens. She faced the sheer cliff, hanging precariously over the sea, which replaced the chateau and part of the ground it had stood on.

Tess didn't seem to mind the weakening drizzle, the last whimper of that earlier, more impressive downpour. But she looked tired, leaning forward and rubbing her face in her hands, then leaned back as the rain washed over her. She dropped her hands on her lap and sighed visibly, looking calm but pale. Her neck was still wrapped in layers of bandage with a blot of drying blood. She had some kind of black scarf hanging on her shoulders that he'd failed to notice earlier. Her clothes and hair were already soaked by the rain and a bit worse for wear, but she kept sitting there, looking like she was hoping the rain was going to wash everything off her. She looked..._pitiful_ and that description was so foreign on her, so strange, that he was put off.

"What a crock-" he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he walked through and over the debris, disturbed plants and upturned earth still scattered around. When he neared her, he winced for a moment as he shivered from the chill brought by the cold air and rain that soaked his clothes. "Well, nice of you to wait for me, Tess! I hope you're happy! Not a lot of guys would get wet to the bone and go through so much bullshit to smack some sense into a chick like you!" he said, stopping just a couple of feet away from her.

"Serves you right; you smell of demon vomit," she said in a similar tone, letting her head drop and looking down. "I take it Vergil and you are done trying to kill each other," she added sarcastically. "Such loving siblings; you must love reunions."

Dante scoffed at that response. "Yeah well, business as usual. He had it coming; stirring up this mess and dragging me all the way out here just to be a jerk. And as always, _I_ had to clean up after him," he groused.

Tess rested her elbow on her knee and propped her chin on her hand. "I'm surprised you let him leave with the Amulet."

"Whatever, I figured it's his turn, if it keeps him quiet for a bit. And if he tries something funny, I'll just have to go put a couple more bullets up his self-righteous ass," Dante said with a shrug and a tone that clearly stated like he wasn't going to talk about it further. "But you and I got some stuff to sort out," he said, pointing his finger at her accusingly.

"Yeah, we do." She sighed and then finally looked at him icily. "Ten years and you still don't comprehend the meaning of tact."

"Hey, after making me run around this damn place all day-to say nothing of all the other crap that's gone down-you don't _deserve _any ," he said, raising his voice a little in frustration.

He stomped over and unceremoniously dropped onto the other side of the massive chunk of masonry, beside her, with a loud huff. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling jaded.

He eyed the bandages wrapping her neck and clicked his tongue, turning his face away as she abruptly raised the scarf hanging on her shoulders to cover her neck when she realized he noticed them. The image of her, possessed by that specter of a madwoman, ripping the choker off her neck the way she did, still haunted him, even though he'd seen sights a million times worse. And it also reminded him that he'd shot and very nearly killed her.

"Oh, now it's my fault. Yeah, silly me; got myself involved in your bitch-fight with brother dearest. Blame him, his orders," she said, looking away too when he did, then back at him. "Arrogant, pushy bastards, both of ya... Jerks," she muttered stiffly.

He couldn't help a scoff at her sarcastic rant with a lopsided smirk. She always spoke to him that way. "Just like you, talking like that after all this. Haven't you learned notto be an arrogant _bitch_ all the time yet? Aren't you afraid of anything?" he said, almost smirking. That really would sound just like her.

"Certainly not of _you_," she said fearlessly, but not quite her old, feisty self yet. "But I can't say you haven't tried..."

He sighed impatiently, exasperated and his shoulders drooped a little. "You know Tess, this has to be the dumbest thing you've ever done. How the hell did he get you? Why didn't you just run away or something when he found you? Huh, you probably didn't even stop to think anyway-you knew what you were up against and you still stood up to him! Just when are you going to learn you can't take everything on, Tess?"

She let him rant on, just looking at him. "Come on, Dante," she said sharply, finally uttering his name, as if telling him 'I'm not that stupid'. "You know him better than that, better than I do. He gave me no choice in the matter. It was all over before I knew what was happening, let alone try to get away."

He laughed bitterly. "You still gave him a run for his money, I'll give you that," he said, thinking back to the expression on Vergil's face when he was sent flying by the wraith of Selene possessing her. "Doesn't make it any less dumb."

She sighed, resting her hands on the bench and hunching a little. "After the coven trapped Roy, I wasted more time looking for him than watching my back. Sasha knew I had nobody to turn to if things went bad, so in the end I played right into their hands. Besides, when I first saw Vergil, I was startled. I thought of you and I froze, like an idiot. He wouldn't let me run, anyway. He gets what he wants, when he wants it. I figured that out fairly early."

Dante huffed, folding his arms. "Yeah, sounds like him alright. Hmph, picking on girls…he's gone low."

Tess raised an eyebrow. "You're one to talk; you must've realized it was him causing all of this. You knew he was alive."

Dante cringed. "I just _suspected_. I didn't know squat for sure until he stabbed me in the back after that freak ran off with you. I'm not the one with the freak-show radar here." He rubbed the back of his neck again. "At least it's all done now."

To his _lack_ of surprise, she snorted sarcastically. "Yeah, they say 'all's well that ends well', but honestly anybody who says that hasn't been _shot_," she said with a deadpan look.

Dante grumbled, palming his forehead. And here he was hoping to almost put that behind them. So much for patching things up.

She folded her arms and hunched forward a bit, leaning her elbows on her knees. "I'm not _that_ surprised anyway," she said in a frigid tone. "I was tired of that cat-and-mouse game of Vergil's. I was out of my mind, I nearly wanted you to do it," she admitted.

But then she sat straight again, brought her hands up in a gesture of annoyance while talking and then let them drop audibly on her thighs. "But, godamnit Dante, you've come this far and you still suck at recognizing when someone's playing mind games. Seriously? After all the shit we've been through, you and me, you still thought I'd go on Hell's paycheck for kicks? Thanks for the vote of confidence," she muttered, sarcastic and a bit disappointed.

Dante glowered at her a little, feeling his temper flaring—like always with Tess. "Well, you're welcome, Tess!" he said, raising his voice again. But he huffed, still feeling guilty about having shot her. "I was pissed off. Didn't really want to shoot you but your attitude was getting too much for my trigger finger. Besides, what the hell do I know about mind-controlling chokers you witches think up? You people are frickin' messed up."

He didn't want to tell her that he'd seen that look in her eyes; that desire to end it all. She was begging him to end her suffering. It had given him goose-bumps to think about it.

He looked at her and sighed. "I know it might not mean a lot after what I did but…I'm sorry, Tess. I let my temper get to my head," he grumbled awkwardly.

She didn't say anything. She looked down and then away, about as awkward as he was feeling, looking surprised to hear him apologize for anything.

"I guess some things _have_ changed. You look good," she just said, with a lop-sided smile, putting her hand up and gently brushing some wet hair off his face with her fingers, letting her hand drop by her side afterwards. "You're not a bratty punk anymore," she added with a jaded chuckle. "You're a proper big damn hero. I'm...kinda jealous."

He didn't recoil from her hand, but chuckled once, turning his head away and bringing a hand behind his neck. He was glad she hadn't lost her underhanded way of praising and teasing him at the same time. "You're not a Twig anymore yourself," he said, shaking his head.

She suddenly chuckled, smiling a bit for the first time since he saw her. It made him think again that she really looked different when she smiled. It took away so much of her frustrating iciness and dejection. But he was reluctant to return the compliment by mentioning that even after her ordeal she looked downright pretty from his point of view

"Man, I missed that nickname," she admitted. "I...heard about you, the demon hunting stuff, the tower and about that island. I was glad you were doing well. Kind of jealous too. I wanted to see you, but..."

She looked right at him with a sort of sad smile. She looked like she was on the verge of crying. She looked away again. "I...really made a big mess of things here, right from the start. I let so many things happen, I couldn't stop all this and I dragged you into trouble, again. Maybe Regina was right: I _am_ more trouble than what I'm worth."

He really didn't want to see her breaking down. "Hey, don't start—"

She looked back, trying to look calm but not quite succeeding. "I said _I'd_ come find you. And in the end _you_ had to come save me," she said calmly. "Thank you. _I'm_ sorry for causing you so much trouble."

And then her self-composure finally seemed to crack, because she tilt her head down a little and squeezed her eyes shut, blinking harshly and biting her lips tightly together as her eyes burned. She shuddered and covered her mouth with her hand, biting her lips again to stop a sob as her shoulders trembled. Everything she had bottled up for the past decade was getting the better of her suddenly and she tried very hard to suppress it. But he saw it, just like he had seen it all those years ago when he held her as she cried after that nightmare of an evening, when demons invaded their safe haven, killing her grandmother and nearly both of them too.

"Oh come _on_ ," he said, turning his head up to the sky, frowning at the drizzle that just didn't want to end and raising his arm in disdain before dropping it across her shoulders and tugging her against him.

He knew, since then, that she did not cry easily; she would rant, glare and curse, or turn silent and cold, but she wouldn't cry. It took a lot to make her cry, so if she did so now, it meant that she was just buckling under the weight of everything...and more importantly, she still trusted him enough to _let _him see her crying.

He rubbed her shoulders soothingly. "Don't give me that, Twig," he said, looking down at her. Although he tried to keep his voice even, there was something tender in his tone.

She looked at him, managing a small smile again, through hair that stuck to her face and she was glad her face was already so moist he wouldn't see how much she was crying. "Sorry. Been bottling a lot of stuff up," she said, blinking to stop her tears.

"I know. You always do that, stupid," he said and without thinking, pulled her closer to him with one arm firmly and rubbed her shoulder as he gave her a squeeze. "Don't cry anymore, dammit. I got you. It's all done now."

She leaned into him, pressing her forehead on his shoulder. "I missed you. Thanks for coming to the rescue...as much as I hate admitting that. I'm so...so sorry."

"Why do we always end up like this?" he muttered, thinking back when, in a situation like this, they had parted without knowing if they would see each other again. He'd already experienced the death of loved ones; Tess leaving taught him about losing them to uncertainty. He could never decide which was worse: The certainty that he would never see someone again, or the _lack_ of knowing if he ever would.

He heard her small, bitter laugh at his grumble and felt relief. He didn't have to think 'Is she even alive?' anymore. But there was something she said then...

"_I'm going to come find you, and I'll want it back. So don't ever lose it, please. If you do—demon or no demon, I'll punch your teeth out. Got it?"_

He pulled back and without saying a word he put that very same, worn necklace in her hand after fishing it out of his pocket. "You wanted this back," he said, looking at it settle under her neck.

She stared at it and closed her fist around it gently, letting a content sigh. She felt the cross, fingers touching the familiar surface and remembering its feel. She swallowed hard to stop herself from giving in to the urge to cry again. "Glad you remembered. Thanks."

Then she shrugged uncertainly and tensed when he boldly tugged at the scarf and the bandages around her neck, lifting them off her skin to inspect the injury. It was half-healed, thanks to Roy, the flesh on the mending, but it was still bloody and raw. The intact skin around the jagged tear was swollen and red. It wasn't bleeding anymore but drops oozed from the healing scab and threatened to trickle down. He let her pull back, ashamed and uneasy, but at least she had no need to cry.

"That's...never going away, is it?" he asked.

She shook her head, adjusting the bandages and wrapping the scarf around her neck, looking away in shame. "I don't know. Someday it might," she sighed. "If I can ever put this behind me."

He cringed a little. "Did you feel all that?" he said, a bit hesitant.

"I did. And I heard. It felt like a bad dream, but I was conscious for almost all of that," she said, looking away with what looked like a sense of deep shame. "I guess you saw for yourself; Selene was _really _crazy. I doubt she was ever of truly sound mind but she was tortured into complete insanity. Sasha…well, she was crazy to begin with."

Dante scoffed. "Yeah, I could tell around the time she started talking. She didn't give rat's ass if you died." He paused, not sure how to mention the other thing he'd heard. "Are you...you know, okay with what she said?"

"The fact that my entire existence was just a fucked up eugenics program to get a witch who could pull that crazy rite off? Huh...I'd like to say that I don't care but the truth is…I do. I just...haven't come to grips with it yet," Tess said, bringing her hand to her forehead and shaking her head a bit. "I don't think I'll be as calm when it does sink in."

"Then _don't _let it. It doesn't matter, Twig," Dante said. "You never seemed to care what your old man was. You just thought he was a heck of a guy."

"And I still do. That's why I haven't freaked out. But...I can't deny what the whole thing implies. You don't need to pretend, but I want you to know the truth," Tess said cautiously and stood up at last, then walked closer to the edge of the cliff and stared into the expanse of water below. She tucked some hair behind her ear as Dante stood up and walked right up next to her and folded his arms, assuming a slightly annoyed look. It was getting clearer by the minute that they could never go back to the way things were before she left, but he let her finish what she wanted to tell him.

"We're all a bunch of half-loons, Dante, always were. I was...naive when I said we were...we were good. The Templar wiccans never were any good. They all killed, deceived and ruined others to survive. We didn't need to meddle with demons to be monsters. And haven't I made the family proud..." she muttered, shuddering at the thought of what she did to Regina and others during her stint as Vergil's slave. "I burned her alive and now I've gotta live with that," she huffed, hunching her shoulders a bit.

"Oh bullshit!" Dante snapped, taking her by both shoulders and making her stare at him. "C'mon, Tess, Roy told me all about that hag. She had it coming! Especially if she was using that book—Roy told me about that too. Sure, the way she went ain't pretty but it was either her or you! I don't give a damn what you did or what kinda crazies your kin were! Like you said, you had to survive! Vergil _made_ you do all this! None of us are saints, Tess. Not in this business."

She looked back at him, shut her eyes and breathed out. "I...I know. I wanted to be honest with you. But I'm glad you feel that way. I can't just forget about what I did, but I _can_ live with it."

"Damn right you can. I never took you for a quivering damsel, Twig. You're tougher than nails," Dante said with a smirk. "I miss that about you—even the death glares."

She stood straight and wiped her face a bit on her sleeve, then chuckled. "I bet you'll still be giving me reasons for those. But you're right...Regina was a...a self-centered, narcissistic, pretentious _bitch_. I almost feel like I should've taken a boot to her face sooner, or something," she blurted with a surprised scoff.

Dante smirked. "Adda girl, now you're talking like the Twig I know. Feel better?"

"Yeah." She then shook her head, recovering from her emotions and smiled stiffly. "I guess it doesn't matter now, anyway. It's over. Now I just want to go home...except I don't know if I have one to go to. I'm glad you came, I always was."

He smiled, a little slyly. "Glad I didn't let you down. And you, missy, are coming with me," he added, poking her chest with a finger, then his own chest with his thumb.

Her smile widened at his attitude. "Some people never change," she sighed, shaking her head, but still smiling. She looked towards the path leading back into town. "Guess it's time we got outta here," she said.

"Damn right it is. I'm sick of this shit hole. I thought Italy was a nice place," he scoffed.

She hesitated, and then turned back at him. She put a hand on his shoulder, stretched up on her toes and kissed his cheek without saying another word and again turned towards the path, hesitating again to see his reaction. He was absolutely still when she did that, but he smiled.

"What, that's it?" he said, looking at her from behind, holding his arms up and smirking.

She smirked back, looking over her shoulder. "Were you expecting me to be all over you just because you're like a rockstar now? Uh-uh...I'm not _that_ easy, Romeo," she teased. "Besides, it's…it's too soon. I don't know if I'm ok. After we get outta here...I'll think about it," she went on, taking the path through the rubble to leave that unpleasant place.

He shook his head, still smirking and followed the same path. He was smirking because although tired and evidently still a bit depressed, she did look better. Her eyes were not cold, distant or overcome with confused feelings and secrets like he'd seen so far. Part of that old spark and liveliness was coming back, bit by bit and he was glad to see it.

He actually didn't realize that the drizzle had finally died out.

"I'm gonna treasure that look on Vergil's face when you said you were gonna seal that Gate. I haven't seen him that stumped in years," Dante chuckled. "I didn't think you had it in you, till you did it."

Tess rolled her eyes. "I _have_ had nearly ten years to get better at my job, you know. See, that's the attitude demons have for witches and then they wonder why we always beat them…" she said matter-of-factly and Dante snorted.

"Oh…and thanks for finding Roy. He told me you got him out of a bind. I missed him a lot too," she added when they were approaching the main road into the city.

Dante scoffed. "That old cat just doesn't know when to be grateful. I cut him loose and he tries to bite my head off…"

He trailed off when he saw the group of people waiting for them, right by the first buildings that flanked the road as it entered the city again. He knew immediately who they were, especially that tall, dark-haired woman. He cringed and instinctively reached for his guns.

"Don't bother," Tess told him, putting her hand on his shoulder. "I got this. Trust me."

She stepped ahead of him just as Vanessa did the same, the rest of what was left of the coven following a few steps behind her.

"What do you want, Vanessa?" Tess asked her calmly when they stopped, a couple of feet apart.

The wiccan looked back at Tess a bit nervously. "I…Tess, we wish to apologize, as a coven. We…know now what happened; and about Regina and the Tome or Rites. We want to apologize. You were right, you always were right about the creed and Regina. I'm so sorry I was so blind to the truth," she said humbly, looking down.

Dante watched with interest. He was surprised these guys even had the gall to show up in the first place. Then, a small grain of fear got into him; suppose Tess decided to stay with these wiccans? They were her kind, after all and after the ordeal with Vergil, Sasha and Belphegor just now, she may have had enough of demons.

"Whatever," Tess said dismissively with folded arms, surprising Vanessa. "As long as you all realize what happened. I'm angry…but not with you. But get to the point."

Vanessa stared at her for a moment with wide eyes and barely kept her mouth from hanging open. "With Regina's death…you're the rightful claimant to the position of High Priestess…" she said and held her hand out, presenting Tess with the crescent moon-shaped pendant Dante had seen Regina wear. "The coven is broken and scattered. We need a High Priestess to help us recover."

Dante clenched his jaw a bit. He wanted to butt in and tell them to leave her alone, after all they'd done already but it wasn't his place to make her choices. If she decided to stay, he'd deal with that…

Tess took the pendant in her hand and stared at it thoughtfully. Dante's heart sank a bit, he felt like walking away immediately, to not deal with another parting. And then, Tess just dropped it, making Vanessa start.

"No," she said with that icy dry tone she reserved for really annoying situations. "You're free to start another coven and pull yourselves together, if you feel safer in numbers… but I'm done with you people. When the coven first kicked my granddad out, he actually said it was the best thing you lot did for us. And you know what? Granpa Sergio was right!" she added brightly. "I knew he wasn't senile like Grams said he was," she added, winking at Dante a bit and he had to physically hold back a big ol' grin and content himself to a smile.

Vanessa looked stunned. "But…But what will you do?" she managed, not daring to pick the pendant up.

Tess shrugged. "Go home, I guess. I'm sorry, but you're not my problem. Just start over, forget about the rules. Things have changed. Good luck."

Before Vanessa could muster some kind of reply, Tess took Dante by the arm and pulled him along as she walked through them, without so much as another word, and they silently parted to let them pass, without a word either. Dante glanced back, noting that they all looked stunned for words and he smirked.

"You're such a bitch sometimes, Twig," he chuckled as they walked off and into the silent city, which looked all but deserted.

"I know, I do enjoy being wicked when I can afford it," she replied with a mischievous smile and he laughed.

Not far from there they finally found Trish and Roy walking towards them. They all stopped and spontaneously grinned at each other for a moment.

"All the Gates are down and out," Trish said with a content smile. "Your friend here sure can pack a punch," she added, nodding towards Roy.

The djinn smirked a little consciously and rubbed his back. "Ah, I wish my poor old back felt that confident, Trish," he groaned and Tess suppressed a chuckle. "I'm dying for some tangerine schnapps and a bed. Pleasure working with you, though."

"Are you saying you're tired, old man?" Dante scoffed. "A while back you were saying you wanted to beat me up!"

Roy smirked, looking at him over his glasses. "Busting a few dozen Gates—in a pouring storm!- is more heavy lifting than kicking your arrogant rear to the pavement, boy," he said sarcastically. "But that can wait. I think we've all had enough for a day."

"Motion seconded," said Tess. "I want to get the hell out of this place. And," she added, moving along and joined by Trish almost as if they'd planned it. "Trish, I gotta know if he still snores like an asthmatic cow in labor…" she said to Trish with a grin, which the blonde returned. They practically walked off arm in arm like best friends.

"Oooh yeah, he does. If he's out like a light, he's louder than the subway," she said casually.

"Hey! I just saved your ass, Twig! That's how you repay me!" Dante said, throwing up his arms in annoyance.

Roy patted his back. "Now now, son, don't tell me you forgot that's how she always is, did you?" the djinn chuckled as they followed.

* * *

The End

(At last!)


	17. A little epilogue

**A little epilogue**

And we come to an end, at last. I still feel embarrassed that it took me 3 years to finish this thing.

I would like to thank Razzmatazzy, Hera Ledro, Brett, Nukey, Cynthia, Alexx and others who helped this project along, with beta reading, suggestions, help with brainstorming or just plain listening to me ramble on about this. I don't think I could've done this without you.

I also want to thank _you_, my constant and new readers. I believe stories have no value unless they're shared and that's where you come in. You give these fanfics meaning. Thank you for reading, for all your feedback, comments, suggestions and for being fellow fans of this series that never gets enough credit. And thank you for embracing Tess and my other original creations so fondly. It means a lot to me.

I have no clue whether I'll write any more DMC fan fiction, but if I do, you'll be the first to know. =)

Take care you all, and God bless.

_P.S.: I'm kidding, I still have stories piled up on my hard-drive. They're not this extensive, but you'll get to read them in time. _

_P.S. 2: Here's what I will very tentatively call the 'soundtrack' of this project. _

"Build That Wall (Zia's Theme)" – Darren Korb (Bastion Soundtrack)  
"Say You'll Haunt Me" – Stone Sour  
"Man With No Country" – Flogging Molly  
"Let It Burn" - Red  
"News From The Front" – Bad Religion  
"Blood On My Hands" – The Used  
"Lie To Me" – Red  
"Effigy" – Seether  
"Varuna" – E. S. Posthumus  
"Ragnarok (The Despair Embodied)" – DMC2 soundtrack (yes I know what you're going to say, but this was a good tune. Shush and enjoy it.)  
"Santa Monica" – Theory of a Deadman  
"6 Gun Quota" – Seether  
"Hold The Line…Fire At Will" – James Dooley  
"Ushas" – E. S. Posthumus  
"Worry About You" – Ivy


End file.
